


Nightmare Visions, Fever Dreams

by ukenceto



Series: Love beyond the bones [25]
Category: Gears of War (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Art, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Memories, Coming of Age, Flashbacks, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Procedures, Military, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26452048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukenceto/pseuds/ukenceto
Summary: Damon Baird is just another prodigy outcast trying to make do all on his own, family inheritance and all be damned.He doesn't meddle in the war, it never were his thing. But when war comes knocking down his doorstep, it never comes alone.And well, it's not like he hadn't met it face to face before.Can one decision alter the course of history, or does it ever only change a person's life?  What marks the true beginning of a branch of fate? Or maybe the real question is when...
Relationships: Garron Paduk/Marcus Fenix, Marcus Fenix/Carlos Santiago
Series: Love beyond the bones [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1025247
Comments: 9
Kudos: 11





	1. One Track Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Set about an year after the battle of Aspho Fields.

***

* * *

There’s someone at the door before he’s even had the chance to set his tools down for the evening.

It doesn’t surprise him that much, but in a night such as this… he’d expected even the usual delinquents to stay in whatever dwellings they’d come to consider a home at the moment, with the weather worsening so rapidly. 

Be as it may, no such luck.

Dropping the heavy leather bag on the counter, he ignored the resounding clang inside it – it was unlikely he’d need those tools right now, as they were meant for house calls, on the rare chances he got them. Most of his clients preferred the anonymity of his cabinet, if one could call it so.

Pulling the heavy hatch from the cast iron door, one more suitable for a ship or a vault than the seemingly meager derelict factory that he was squatting in, he eyed up the scene on the other side.

“Come on man, let us in. Got you a fine one for tonight.” The voice is just a bit slurred, suggesting its owner was yet to get his proper fill of something highly flammable. The accent jumps around several countries by the end of the two short sentences, though he’s well used to that.

No one around here could win any favors by not fluidly changing identities depending on the moment.

Rolling his eyes, he unlocks, pulling the massive, rusty door open just enough to let the three men inside.

“What the hell happened to him?” He’s seen worse alright, but was still having at least some difficulty assessing the extent of the damage underneath all the blood which covered the face of the man currently slumped between the other two, his head hanging low. Head injuries always tended to bleed a metric fuckton.

“Got wasted, got into a fight at Jimmy’s. Pretty sure he was actually trying to get himself a new face, with the kind of words that spilled outta his mouth – and almost did, cause the other bloke took a bottle.”

“And since when is that my problem?” He hated bar brawls. They meant too much blood, puke and at least some violence from whatever sod ended up on his chair each time.

“’Cause Jimmy said he’s one of ours.” The man, whom he knew only as Grout, pulled the stranger’s jacket lapel until he could see the bare skin of his neck and clavicle; and the metal which gleamed dully peeking out from underneath his low shirt collar. “Gotta look out for each other, right? Jimmy said you can put this one on his tab.”

“Just get him on the chair.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He could’ve said no, of course. But being out of Jimmy Ox’s favor could bring certain, let’s say, bright and specific difficulties in the already rocky path of life before him. And as much as he’s tried to stand his ground even at meager eighteen years of life, Baird quite liked his kneecaps as they were.

And being allowed to treat everyone who came to him for help mean that he had to, indeed, treat everyone. Not ask more questions than strictly necessary, and keep certain remarks to himself.

He didn’t like the military, but he knew the kind of bar Jimmy ran.

And the man before him had COG tags; that meant he was getting treatment, regardless of Baird’s opinion on the matter.

Grout and his buddy finally got the man onto the padded, ex-dentist chair, which was a bit of a feat on its own; even slumped between them, the stranger had seemed huge. Laid down flat, now made it obvious that otherwise he would’ve easily towered over the men with at least over a head’s worth of height.

“I’ll deal with him from here, you two can go now, be outta my hair and all.” He waved a hand dismissively, knowing they wouldn’t take offense at his words. Plus, while the snow which had piled over their clothing had already melted, the storm outside was just getting started, if one could trust the forecast.

He knew they’d rather not waste any more time before going back to the warm, dark interior of the bar, certainly something already waiting there for them, a form of thanks for a job well done.

“’Kay man, be seeing you.” Grout knew the way out, his companion silently following in his footsteps.

“Not too soon I hope.” Baird muttered, already turning his attention where it was most needed.

“We’ll see about that, aye.” The reverberation as the door slammed shut didn’t bother him; he was certain that the concrete walls had taken worse throughout the years.

“Alright now, let’s see what we can do here.” He moved the stranger’s head until he could take a better look at the right side of his face – there was some swelling, but mostly streaks of semi-coagulated blood, some still seeping from the jagged cuts that ran over the skin. “They’ve really done a number on you, huh.”

Baird was used to talking to patients who were either in too much pain, or outright unconscious to respond; the man before him seemed to tether the line between both, with the bonus of unknown degree of alcohol intoxication.

Still, he was a bit surprised as the stranger cracked an eye open, groaning lightly, the pale, icy blue gaze focusing on him with more intensity than the above circumstances would’ve warranted possible.

“Just stay put, no puking, and we’ll be done here in no time.” Even as the words left his mouth, he dragged the bucket from under the chair with his foot, positioning it better. However, the man seemed unfazed, or maybe the words didn’t even register in his head fully, as his eyes closed again.

Humming quietly to himself as he washed his hands, Baird glanced at him a few more times, before rolling over the steel table with his instruments, preparing what he was going to need.

Sitting down next to the man, he began by carefully cleaning off the blood, the gauze in his hand soaked in disinfectant.

There were still shards of glass embedded in the flesh, so he focused on removing them with a pair of long tweezers, each piece releasing a new rivulet of fresh blood.

“Tsk, that’s gone deep… You’ll be lucky if you can still feel that side of your face after it heals.” He was good at what he did, but nerve damage was nerve damage, and sometimes even his skills couldn’t guarantee a full recovery.

The man flinched some, his eyes cracking open again, briefly focusing on Baird who had just picked up the needle with additional anesthetic.

“Gonna need this for the next part, so don’t move.” He rests his free hand on the man’s chin, making sure to hold it in place. From experience, patients rarely listened to his words.

Threading the suture needle after, he paused for a while, considering the best approach.

The cuts spawned from the cheekbone, up to the temple; also down towards the chin and upper lip, which was nicked as well.

Deciding to go with the path of least resistance, Baird began from the temple, and the relatively shallow cut there – it was still bad enough to need stitches, but nowhere near the mess bellow, which had revealed the glimpse of bared bone beneath pink flesh.

The cursive of a tattoo crossed the man’s brow; the calligraphy reading a name, Baird suddenly realized. It was uncommon, or at least reckless to do that around this city, but he’d seen worse.

Pausing to push the wayward lock of hair which had fallen over the man’s temple, Baird meticulously continued his work, each stitch falling into place and closing up the wound.

He was counting them in his head, unable to stop from wondering how many would they turn out in the end.

The area right near the eye was a bit tricky, but he handled it with care, and continued on.

He began wondering, after a while, working on him this close; recalling the story of his _other_ patient, who kept saying the man in his memories got the kind of eyes you can't miss. Black curls, high cheekbones... The tattoos were a question mark but Baird still thinks it's still worth a shot. Once the stranger before him wakes up again that is, having seemingly fallen asleep or passed out despite the dulled jab of the needle in his face.

The dark ink under his eyes depicted tears; an uneven row of black stitches crossed his neck. It wasn’t a symbolism Baird was familiar with directly, but he could get the hint.

Didn’t take a genius to, really. Combine it with the drinking, fighting, and generally the sheer fact the man’s been doing both at Jimmy’s of all places, got him thinking it was someone whose life wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. He couldn’t but notice, that under the dark circles and blood and bruising, the stranger didn’t seem to be much older than Baird himself either.

Pausing his work when he reached the end of one cut, he looped the thread and then put his tools down, debating his next move for a long moment.

He had always told whoever came to him, that it didn’t matter who they were or why they were picking him and not any other actual doctor in the city. He would care for them, as much as he could; it was an oath he’d made to himself, and planned to keep no matter what.

But sometimes, his curiosity took the better of him.

Reaching over carefully, he pulled the silver chain from under the man’s shirt, revealing the tags fully.

It only occurred to him now, that there were more than the usual two.

Turning them in his palm, he was about to read the letters inscribed on the metal, when a hand closed over his arm with a surprising strength and dexterity.

Pulling back as if burned, he looked up, meeting the man’s gaze.

“You know you could just ask me my name.” His voice was low and gravelly, just barely there roll of vowels suggesting the anesthetic was still numbing half his face off.

“Not sure if you’d have answered, unless you’ve really mastered sleeptalking.” Baird replied defensively, finally moving his hand away from underneath the man’s death grip.

“I wasn’t asleep.” The man didn’t look away, and Baird began feeling oddly guilty. He hadn’t done anything wrong to him, so it was stupid to feel that way. But he still felt out of place, like he’d been caught in somebody’s bedroom while visiting their home.

Which was even more ridiculous, since they were in his own goddamn surgical room, never mind that it had been a basement beforehand. It was his turf.

“Then you make a very convicting case.” Huffing, Baird sprayed his hands with disinfectant and picked up the needle again. “So what is your name, or is it actually the one written on your forehead?”

That, was apparently the wrong thing to say, because the man did his best to frown despite the obvious discomfort that move should’ve caused him.

“Marcus.” The single word left his lips after a pause long enough to make Baird wonder if he was actually going to get an answer at all.

“Well, regardless if that’s your real name or not, thanks for telling me.” Patting away at Marcus’ lip with a gauze pad, since it had begun to bleed again, he resumed his work.

“Pretty sure that’s the moment where you tell me yours.” The words came out somewhat muffled, and with a slight undertone of pain; Baird had just pulled in the first stitch on the cut which reached his chin, deciding to leave the lip for last if they were going to be chit-chatting after all.

“Damon.” He answered in tone, adjusting his glasses. He only needed them when he worked on something as fine as the job beforehand, but it didn’t help whenever they’d slip amidst something important.

“Just Damon?”

“Same as just Marcus, unless there’s more to that.” He didn’t wish to go into details, but an uncharacteristic urge had him continue. “There was a bit after mine too, but let’s say it’s not really relevant anymore.”

“A shame really.” Marcus noted, but the spark of mirth in his tone suggested he seemed to see beyond Baird’s pretended nonchalance. “I could tell you mine, but then I’ll have to make sure you don’t go for the reward attached to my head.”

“Huh, and here I think you’re doing that yourself, with all the, uh, more creative self-expression.” Vaguely motioning to Marcus’ face, Baird took the momentary pause to get the next stitch done. They were down to thirty six so far.

A shrug of the shoulder seemed to convey how much Marcus cared about anyone’s opinion on the matter, including the government’s armed forces.

“Just promise to keep this clean, and come to me at least a couple of times in the next few days for a check-up.” Picking a couple of butterfly closures, he placed them on the cut which slashed through Marcus’ upper lip, making sure they’d hold the edges well.

“I’ll try.” Came the barely-audible response, but Baird made sure to meet his eyes again.

“Drinking too much and any more bar fights are strongly inadvisable, unless you want half your face to rot off. Believe me, that won’t be pleasant at all.” Picking up some gauze, he began dressing the rest of the wound. “And it would be a shame to ruin all my hard work too.”

“Then I’ll be here.” Marcus agreed, even if seemingly somewhat begrudgingly.

“Any other injury I should look at?” He remembered to ask, though he couldn’t spot any more blood elsewhere. Taking a brief moment to brush an antiseptic gauze pad against Marcus’ scraped knuckles, he waited for an answer.

“Nothing more than few bruises. I can deal with those on my own later.” Zipping up his leather jacket, Marcus glanced at the door.

“Technically, with the way the storm’s picking up tonight, you can stay here ‘till the morning. It’s a basement, but it’s still warm. Can get you something to drink and eat too.” It was a bit of an uncharacteristic display of goodwill for him, but Baird had to agree with himself that nothing good would come out of getting Marcus back on the streets so soon.

He didn’t actually know if the man had a place to go back to; wouldn’t surprise him if the answer was negative, considering the neighborhood they were in.

“Might consider that…” Marcus said after trying to stand up and nearly losing equilibrium, only Baird’s arm keeping him from falling face-first on the floor.

“Just sit down while I clean up and get you some sugar, alright?” Baird sighed, reaching for the ancient refrigerator. He usually kept non-edible things in it, but also a few sugary drinks, since it wasn’t rare that his patients sometimes needed it.

A cheese sandwich had him wonder for a moment, before he remembered putting it there in the morning, before promptly forgetting to take it when going out for the day.

It would have to do.

Marcus took the offer without complaint, and Baird focused on getting his workstation in order. Discarding of the blood soaked bandages and cleaning his tools, he could almost think he was alone in the room; not a word came from his patient, which felt almost uncanny. He was used to people talking to fill in the silence, and they often did after experiencing various levels of discomfort; all the literature on the matter described it as grounding.

Glancing over his shoulder, he half-expected to find Marcus asleep, but he was just slumped down on the bench against the wall, slowly working through the sandwich.

Well, that was that.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Baird was surprised to see it was barely past midnight; probably he was tired enough to think the time hard dragged the hours on further than it actually did.

The _next_ bang on the door startled them both.

Baird was not unused to it, but the change in Marcus’ posture was obvious. Defensive didn’t seem to cover it; he looked like a spring wound up tightly enough to snap.

“It’s fine, probably just another patient.” He said, voice sounding strangely lost in the big room. Clearing his throat, he tried again, already walking towards the door as the person behind it continued with insistence that seemed to say breaking the thing down was the next logical step. “Stay put, alright?”

He wasn’t sure if Marcus wasn’t about to try and bolt, and he really wouldn’t have wanted him to do so through the door which lead to the upper floors. Man had to have his secrets and all, and Baird definitely didn’t like to put his on display.

Checking the hallway outside proved unnecessary, as the voice which came through was plenty familiar to him.

“Baird, if you don’t open this door in the next instant, I swear there’ll be trouble.” Only one person got to still call him that, but it was the thick accent which announced the owner of the voice without a note of doubt.

“Alright, alright, I’m here.” He pulled the door open, and felt a sense of déjà vu; for the second time that night, someone carried a man slumped over their shoulder. With the only difference being that there wasn’t a third person.

“Finally, any longer and I’d have to get him to Ricardo.” Paduk huffed as he carried the person in with an assured stride, familiar with the place’s setting.

Hospitals had a code blue; Baird had the thought of the resident owner of the incinerator to announce how bad a case was.

Paduk made it straight for the operating table, placing the man over it, whose stance barely changed despite the cold steel; he wasn’t making a sound. Clearly, in agony beyond words.

Rolling up his sleeves, Baird shared a look with his guest. There was no need to explain; Paduk knew what to do. The swift, silent preparation of the space around them was almost down to a point of choreographic perfection; Baird didn’t always have the need to call in a nurse, but in some cases… a second pair of hands was more than welcome.

* * *

***

* * *

The clock now read half past three; well into the witching hour.

All he had to do from now on, was make sure to watch over the man for the rest of the evening, and clean up.

He was lost in his own head for a while, until he heard Paduk’s low voice coming through, for once not aimed at him.

Glancing over, he saw him sat down next to Marcus, the two of them lost in a quiet conversation.

Huh, not something he’d expected, all things considered, but… who was he to judge.

“We’ll be calling it a night then. Unless you need me to stay and keep an eye on him too?” Paduk asked, but the real question remained unsaid. Baird didn’t really mind.

“Nah, go ahead, I can handle this. Just make sure to help Marcus change his bandages in the morning.” He was certain whatever they’d been talking about, Marcus was getting a bit better deal of a place to stay in than a basement, even if a warm one.

Paduk still had that aura which told the world there was nothing more dangerous than him in a room, but Marcus didn’t seem to mind. Baird thought that maybe one day, he would trust others more too. For now, Paduk remained the only exception to that rule.

He saw Marcus looking at the man whom they had just operated on, and realized much too late that being present in the room had probably been difficult for him. His gaze seemed so haunted, that Baird was sure he’ll see it in his nightmares.

As the door closed behind them, the air carried the metallic aftertaste of snow.

* * *

***

* * *

Damon Baird, huh.

The name rang a bell, though Marcus wouldn’t have thought he’d find the heir of _that_ family working in a basement that looked like it had seen its fair share of blood, and not just in this decade.

But could he really speak, considering that’s where he had ended up too.

Amidst the haze of fading painkillers, and the hot, pulsating pain which radiated from the side of his face, he vaguely recalled an article, or something like that, read or seen in passing years ago. Something that hadn’t caught his attention for more than a moment at the time, but seemed to rise from the depths of half-forgotten memories now.

A scandal, something about that bloodline disowning their heir; some gossip about what’s been going on behind closed doors. Nothing said in detail, but plenty hinted at. Yeah, the old houses of Tyrus had always had their secrets.

He seemed young, but the frown lines which had occasionally appeared on his forehead, and the deft work of his hands had suggested his years had been anything but carefree.

Marcus could understand this much.

Now the man who worked next to him… He couldn’t pinpoint why, but there was something about him which refused the need for questions, or definitely didn’t uphold any expectations of them being answered.

Marcus had watched them both save a life tonight, nearly elbows deep in blood and innards, the sight making his stomach turn; and yet didn’t really know how he fit in the equation.

The alcohol only a distant buzz at the back of his head now, he wondered how the rest of the night would go.

Days and months had gone by, the morning always there, no matter what he did. What problems he got into, what people he bumped shoulders with. It didn’t matter, little did nowadays.

But when the man Baird had called Paduk came to sit next to him, the surgery complete, Marcus began to wonder, with intensity he hadn’t allowed himself in a long time.

His features were sharp, chiseled almost; but to call him beautiful would be a lie. Handsome, perhaps. In a way a distant mountain peak was; frosted, dangerous. Like the edge of a blade.

Marcus had been looking for danger for a while now.

Getting into fights held a rush he couldn’t back away from, not when the pain finally matched what he thought he deserved.

A punishment with no judge or jury other than himself, and the whole world as an executioner.

“You’re Gorasnyan, aren’t you.” The words left his mouth before he could think better of it, the same spark lingering in his thoughts, like a lit candle in a gunpowder factory.

“Mhmmm… And you’re not.” The man said with a shrug, just a casual observation. But his eyes darted to the tags still visible over Marcus’ shirt.

“Here to spy on us?” His smirk could’ve been considered lazy, if the effect wasn’t likely ruined by Baird’s earlier suture work.

“Maybe I am.” Now fully turned towards him, until the space on the bench between them was practically nonexistent, Paduk focused entirely on him.

He wasn’t blind to the look in his eyes, nor the way they darted down for a second, taking just a glimpse at Marcus’ lips, before returning. There was still the promise of danger, but also of something else that finally made Marcus pause.

“Is Baird one too?” Marcus didn’t know if his underground doctor had any allegiance to either side in the Pendulum wars, but knew military when he saw it. The man before him was a soldier, and it was in every fiber of his being, despite the plain clothes and the suave presentation.

“I wouldn’t say that, so no need to go around and cry wolf.” Paduk’s grin seemed wolfish around enough though, in jarring contrast with his next words. “But I think you’ll find that… sometimes, despite that war is something men like us carry in forever, there are moments, and people on the other side… that you make peace with. The kind which lasts forever.”

“So neither goes around crying wolf, huh.” Marcus could see it happening. It was never as simple as shooting down body in front of your gun, no matter what they tried to drill down in their heads from day one.

“War is for blood, for fuel, for power. But a man is a man, and there’s more he needs in life than that.” Falling silent, Paduk looked away, and Marcus followed his gaze.

Baird was busy cleaning the mess around the operating table, seemingly lost in thought, deaf and blind to the world, even if it was currently as small as the room they were in.

Paduk’s hand on his jaw took his attention back instantly, and the thought to push him away didn’t even occur to Marcus. He just waited, looking at him through half-lidded eyes.

“This can be an oath as much as any other.” When their lips met, it was warmth, and it was ache; the kiss was gentle, but even the lightest touch made the cut on Marcus’ lip sting. He didn’t mind. “Come with me tonight? We could just rest. Sure look like you could use that.”

“Maybe.” It was his turn to say it, but Marcus felt he’d already come to a decision. Glancing at the door, he nodded, almost as if to himself. “I think I wouldn’t mind that.”

Paduk’s hand had found his, interlacing their fingers; even though their legs hid it, when he spoke to Baird, Marcus was sure the young doctor still somehow knew.

* * *

***

* * *

He’d learned next to nothing about Marcus on their way back to his place, but for once, Paduk found that he didn’t mind not knowing much.

There was a time and place to satisfy his curiosity, and now wasn’t it.

Plenty actual work still sat unfinished in his mental checklist, since that was the only safe place to keep some of the more sensitive requirements of his profession.

Nah, tonight was his time off, if… reconnaissance agents ever really got that.

Glancing back at Marcus as he unlocked the door, Paduk noted that while he still seemed tired, his eyes held the same burning intensity which had drawn him in so from the start.

He quickly considered several things to say which had come up in his mind, but finally settled on just opening the door and letting him go in first.

Marcus didn’t appear hesitant, so Paduk closed the door behind them, turning the lock.

“It’s a bad neighborhood.” He said with a shrug, though his guest didn’t seem bothered, and simply took off his jacket, leaving it on the sofa nearby.

“Yeah, I’m used to it.” Marcus’ low voice held a memorable quality, much like the rest of him, making Paduk find an odd sense of enjoyment even from the few words they got to exchange so far.

“There’s some take-out in the fridge, if you’re hungry.” Paduk offered, as he shed his coat and put it the rack next to the heater. The heavy fabric was damp from the snow which had been their silent companion along the way, filling the quiet streets and bringing ghostly brightness to the world all around. 

“I’ll think about it.” Marcus sat down on the sofa, leaning his head up, arms coming up to rest over the worn plush backrest. From this angle, Paduk couldn’t see the bandaged up side of his face; only the streak of black ink under his left eye, and the shine of his wet hair, droplets of melted snow glimmering amidst it in the amber light of the room.

It was warm enough that Paduk knew Marcus wouldn’t be cold or uncomfortable, yet he found himself wondering what else could he offer to him.

For all their not-so-subtle game at Baird’s place, he had meant his words. He was giving Marcus a safe room for the evening, no expectations of anything in turn. But barely anyone else was ever allowed to know where Paduk lived, and despite that he didn’t have anything incriminating around, he still felt somewhat out of his depth.

“Got a shower I could use?” The question could’ve almost been rhetorical, but halfway through the huff he was about to give in response, Paduk remembered that some buildings around still only had communal showers.

“Yeah, down the corridor, the door to the right. Can’t miss it.” After a second glance at the blood stains on Marcus’ shirt and jeans, he realized that wasn’t going to cut it. “I’ll fetch you some clean clothes too.”

“Thanks.” Marcus looked away before getting up, seeming momentarily ashamed of the fact. The reaction made another spark of curiosity ignite in Paduk’s mind; he hadn’t seen anyone looking so in and at the same time out of place in a situation before.

Marcus looked like he could’ve been born on the same streets they’d prowled tonight, but it was the little things which stood out if one paid enough attention. A few words which had slipped with an accent suggesting a higher education; an honorable bearing that transcended what Paduk knew of him so far – military background, and an uncertain present.

He could easily draw parallels between him and Baird, if the two didn’t seem so shockingly different in a way he couldn’t pinpoint right away. But while Baird had impressed him with a strength of character, knowledge and skills he hadn’t expected of a kid coming from money, he lacked a sense of danger, of the instinctual alertness that Marcus got, even when all bloodied up and half-conscious.

Baird was no soldier, and he was as open about it as a person could allow themselves to be around here (read: not much at all, unless one valued their life), while Marcus, whom Paduk couldn’t imagine donning out a uniform again, seemed to have never truly let go of that part of himself.

All of this was intriguing, even if he’d promised himself not to ask what Marcus wasn’t already willing to tell.

“Just say if there’s anything else.” Paduk said after having made a brief detour to the bedroom, giving Marcus the promised clothing.

“Yeah…” He seemed a tad uncertain for a moment, and they just stood in front of each other for a long while, silent in the tight space of the corridor.

“I’ll be off to bed, feel free to join me – or not. There’s blankets on the sofa.” Paduk finally said, thinking back on the kiss they’d shared earlier. Marcus had seemed to welcome it at the time, but there was nothing wrong with giving the man a few options again.

Another nod, before Marcus turned and silently went into the bathroom, leaving Paduk alone with his thoughts.

“Guess we’ll find out then, won’t we.” He quietly muttered to himself as he returned to the dark bedroom, running a hand through his hair. After a moment of consideration, he pushed the door until it was almost closed; just a thin slip of light shone through, barely enough to give shape to the objects in the room.

Taking off his sweater, he laid over the sheets, arms crossed behind his head.

It had been a long day, though it was the later part of it along with the night which seemed so intensely saturated, that his fatigue had passed the point beyond which it became energy again, sleep becoming the last thing on his mind.

Looking to the side as he heard the ancient pipes creak and groan under the water pressure, he waited, content to let the minutes carry on like smoke, curling in the velvet dark.

He didn’t know how long it had been by the time his door opened fully, revealing a figure outlined in the dim light.

Sitting up leisurely, Paduk followed his movements, resting back on his hands.

The bed dipped under their combined weight, and a moment later Paduk could feel the warmth of Marcus’ thighs over his own; a tentative pair of hands running over his shoulders, burying into his hair.

Welcoming the touch with a caress in turn, his palms following the curves of Marcus’ waist, up and down again until he reached the edges of the borrowed shirt he wore; the cotton clung to his still-damp skin, inviting the desire to uncover it.

A droplet of water fell from Marcus’ hair, landing on his cheek. Paduk turned his face up, following it, seeking out Marcus’ lips – the shadows were too prominent for their eyes to meet again just yet.

It was an unhurried kiss, sensual, learning.

He reminded himself to be mindful of Marcus’ injury, and even his arms faltered momentarily, too caught up in the moment to be more than a gentle embrace.

Marcus’ grip on his hair held less desperation too, though his desire to have Paduk stay close was still clearly evident.

When his hands found the buttons of the shirt, he paused only for a second, before beginning to unbutton them, with the same patient will for exploration, the tips of his fingers grazing over Marcus’ skin.

When he passed the last button, he left the shirt to fall open, before lightly pulling back from their kiss.

Marcus followed his lead, arms coming to rest by his sides; a silent go ahead, allowing Paduk to slide the shirt away from his body fully, discarding it somewhere to the side.

His eyes had adjusted to the dim light enough to see better now, revealing the string of bruises which marred Marcus’ milky skin, some of them dark enough to look almost like ink blots.

“What happened to you?” He asked quietly, palm slowly crossing over his abdomen to rest right underneath Marcus’ rib cage, feeling the strong heartbeat beneath.

“I did.” Marcus answered with a shrug, his hand covering Paduk’s. “Don’t worry about it.”

His voice had fallen to such low tone, Paduk thought he could feel it physically; soft and syrup-thick against his throat. He certainly wanted to.

Wrapping his arms around Marcus’ waist, he pulled him close, before gently turning them over until he was laying over him. Marcus simply hummed in response, his hands resting on Paduk’s shoulders, running over his back, drawing him in.

Trailing kisses up Marcus’ chest, Paduk realized the burning want he’d felt was now more tame, steady; he wanted to lavish the man beneath him with all he had, treat him as a lover would.

It wouldn’t fade the bruises, but just maybe it would be enough to make him forget the reasons behind them, at least for a night.

* * *

***

* * *

Glancing at the man who’d appeared on the stairwell, Baird realized he’d almost dozed off. The clock showed it’s been no more than ten minutes since he’d last checked it; too early for the sun to have risen, but the moment wasn’t far either.

“Thought you could use this.” Gaze instantly focusing on the mug in his hands, Baird found himself hoping.

“Coffee, if I ever were a lucky man?” He tried, though the barely-there smirk told him plenty.

“Tea, then go to bed. I can take it from here.” He had picked up a lot in the past year, helping Baird around the place. He was smart, though honestly Baird just wished he’d recover enough to at least remember his name…

Not that he wasn’t proud of the work he’d done on him so far, he truly was; but a comfortable life required more than a functional body, and he could sense the tension whenever another month rolled by. He didn’t just _want_ to remember, he needed to.

As who was a man without his memories? Certain things truly appeared to transcend that, and Baird was more than glad about it. That he hadn’t accidentally picked a psychopath, or made one. After all, anything was to be expected with the amount of brain damage he’d had to deal with.

But, be as it was, his experiment had proved more than a success, if it wasn’t for his, hopefully, only a temporary setback with the amnesia.

“Call me if there’s anything then, and I mean it. This one was a lot of work.” He said, gratefully taking a big sip of the mug. The heating always made his throat parched, and the fatigue didn’t help things either.

“Yeah yeah, I know the drill. Now go, will you?” His voice had improved in the past couple of months, but still had a heavily raspy quality, and this time Baird wasn’t sure if it that was something which would change.

But he had tried his best, and honestly his work had yielded more than anyone could’ve even hoped for. Still, ever the perfectionist, he kept thinking that there was maybe something else he could do…

“Oh, remind me that we need to talk when I get up. A curious thing happened tonight, something you might wanna hear about.” He definitely needed to consider it on a more clear head, but the hopeful way he looked at him told him it was at least worth to try.

“I’ll be all ears, alright.” Taking a seat next to the gurney, he waved Baird off, a glimmer of the low lights catching over his right arm, revealing the intricate metallic pattern over it, before the motion sank it in shadows again.

Funnily, he was sure he’d fallen asleep the moment he collapsed face-first into the bed, consciousness be damned… yet amidst his restless dreams, his thoughts kept spiraling back to the same image: blue eyes and black curls. 

***

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have more chapters planned for this work, which clear things some, though if you know my other works I bet you can make a solid guess at who's our mystery man.
> 
> Anyways, I find it interesting to explore the idea of Marcus just... giving up the world after Aspho, all those emotions he'd learned to keep bottled up as a child goin' outright molotov cocktail on him early on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Give me thy weakness, make me blind,  
> Both ways, as thou and thine, in eyes and mind;  
> ...  
> This face, by which he could command  
> And change th' idolatry of any land,  
> This face, which, wheresoe'er it comes,  
> Can call vow'd men from cloisters, dead from tombs,  
> And melt both poles at once, and store  
> Deserts with cities, and make more  
> Mines in the earth, than quarries were before.  
> -  
> John Donne, Love's Exchange

* * *

***

Hot water filled the tub slowly, steadily rising around his body.

He leaned back some more, trying to get comfortable. There was always something that ached if he moved the wrong way, or leaned wrong or slept wrong… Yeah, not a pretty picture.

Damon had said it’ll go away eventually; at least to an extent. That his body was still healing, the damaged neurons yet to rebuild themselves in full.

That he had to be patient.

It had been so long now, that he wasn’t certain if patience could cut it.

Or was it that he was simply too restless, caught in the haze of the unknown?

His doctor, (caretaker, roommate? He wasn’t quite sure at this point), had been upfront enough about how he came to be in his care. There probably weren’t many people, if at all, able to complain their own body had been stolen from the morgue.

Displaced, Damon preferred to say.

And it’s not like he should be complaining, really.

He hadn’t ended up as a bunch of organs on the black market, and was instead… very much alive, if the pain was a trustworthy indicator. Aside of it, his body was functional in all ways one could consider normal, so what else was there to wonder about.

Ah, just one tiny detail.

He didn’t remember shit.

Not even his own name, which was the thing that irked him the most, on the nights he couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning fruitlessly in the dark, as if he could wrangle that truth from the invisible opponent he’d come to see his own mind as.

You’d think, the one word which must’ve been integrated in your memory from early age should’ve remained, if nothing else.

But alas, even on the days when the fatigue and brain fog lifted up, he reached inward and found nothing.

Frustrating didn’t begin to cover it.

Because for every day in which his body felt better, the scars he saw in the mirror – shallower, he felt adrift. What was to become of this new life, supposedly wrenched back from the land of the dead, if he had nothing but a blank slate?

Did he have a family, someone out there who missed him? Was he someone’s father, brother, son?

The face which looked back at him every morning was youthful, even under the traces of what he’d been though, the addition of metal meeting his flesh. He must’ve had someone.

Baird hadn’t mentioned there being a ring anywhere on his person; nor COG tags, although it was his guess that he’d been army. Considering the hospital his remains had been taken to, though that didn’t help them much either. Both because there were so many Gears, and quite a lot of them dead, according to Baird, who’d spent a solid chunk of time gaining access to the said hospital.

He’d gotten a bit vague when asked as to why he had to steal a body from there, but well… Didn’t matter, did it.

No one had filed a missing report, so the good doctor’s been free to work on him as he saw fit, and after the initial months of recovery, they found themselves in this state of impasse.

He’d gotten a routine down though, there was no doubt to that.

Making breakfast, often times dinner as well, helping Baird with his patients and operating room sometimes, lounging about the upper loft, reading. There was a large collection of books of various thematic, and even though the technical and medical ones prevailed, he had found fiction that sparked interest and kept him from going fully mad.

Because that had been a valid possibility too.

Seeing the sheer extent of damage his body had sustained, was enough to get him to a state of shock for weeks in the beginning.

Learning to accept the loss of limbs, namely his right arm and leg was… difficult. Even though the mechanical prosthetics he now spotted were more than superb in functionality, and designed like an art piece, a loss was still a loss.

Metal could not feel, could not quench the phantom pain he struggled with at times.

He’d learned to hold things (though, as if seized by an invisible force, he sometimes held them tight enough to shatter without consciously trying to), write and walk again, yet he knew those parts of him were forever gone.

Long scars criss-crossed all over his torso and shoulders, his back, his head… The mechanical jaw took him the most to get used to however. And if he was being honest with himself, he still hadn’t gotten used to it fully.

So even when Baird had tentatively allowed him to go outside again, he’d worn hats and hoodies and scarves, hiding his face, shying away from the bright of day. It seemed fitting, that only dusk and twilight were the times he felt comfortable enough to take walks in, when people on the street were far and few in-between, and daylight was dim.

But it was no way to go on, not in the long run, and they both knew it.

Even as he worked in the small garden atop the last floor, basking in the warmth and sunlight streaming through the glass, glad that the whole roof was built like a conservatory, he kept trying to invoke anything about who he was, or had been.

When the weather had gone colder again, the bright hues of fall moving way to the grey mists and biting frost of winter, the dreams had begun.

Sometimes, he couldn’t recall more than a feeling upon waking up, the details flowing away from him like water between his fingers.

But other times… the pictures were vivid, so detailed that he could sense everything, taste it even.

He carried those when he awoke as well, but couldn’t risk revealing everything to Baird.

Though he had described the man he kept seeing in his mind, the dreams had supplied no name, nothing specific to pinpoint to a place, a specific person.

There was intensity in those visions, memories, if they were that – interestingly enough, he almost didn’t doubt they were something which had happened for real.

But despite that he could recognize the mysterious man if he saw him on the street, he had begun to doubt he ever would meet him again.

The city he walked in was bleak, the central parts, which he tended to avoid, the only ones that gleamed with bronze and marble, the picturesque streets and boulevards a place he’d get longer, displeased looks at. He hadn’t wanted anyone to call the police on him, so he preferred not to risk going there.

It was the one thing that Baird had tried to make perfectly clear to him from the start.

If he ever were to run off, or try to find who he was by more public means, he risked horrible repercussions for them both.

The first doctor to lay eyes on him would be able to tell he’d had treatment, and resources which the COG and Tyrus were unfamiliar with. The prosthetics alone would be a dead giveaway, forgive the pun.

And that would either instantly label him as a spy, along with his now ‘convenient’ amnesia and lack of documents, or worse.

Something to be taken apart and studied, until the technology was reverse-engineered, until the COG was satisfied with possessing the foreign knowledge.

He’d eventually give up the name of his beneficiary, and Baird, who already had a lot to face if taken in by the law enforcement, would be made to tell all his secrets too.

And when he told him it was likely the COG would only use them for weaponry, for ways to hurt others, he hadn’t doubted the fact.

It was better for them to stick to the shadows, and find a different way to his acquaintance.

Who, most likely believed him dead.

It was a big mess, but one he couldn’t keep away from. Not when his dreams were so… sublime.

This man, whoever he was, was his lover. Even without knowing anything else about him, the dreams were enough to rouse more than curiosity, and he’d woken up on more than one occasion rather affected by the images playing behind his eyelids.

His mind might have been a bit lost for a while, but his body kept the score.

At times, the dreams weren’t anything more than platonic, and he’d grown an appreciation for the lush gardens and sunlit rooms of the manor they were in. Sometimes it was a different garden, nearby a garage, with a house like from a fairy tale; lace covered windows, colorful flowers, even more sunlight.

Another one was inside what he would guess was a ship, and the ocean could be seen through a round window, waves restlessly crossing the inky surface.

And the man, that man who was in his nearly every dream. Blue eyes, like ice, like water. Black hair, that he’d run his fingers through so many times, curls smooth like silk. Lips he’d never grown tired of kissing…

“Who were you?”

He didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud until the echo of his words returned to him, reflected by the tiled walls and the metal of the tub.

The water was still warm, but on the verge of going cooler than he’d have liked it to, so it was time to go, to greet another day of the unknown.

Getting up, he got the towel and dried himself up quickly, trying not to dwell on the sensation of metal against skin.

Wiping the fogged up mirror, he looked at his reflection for a moment, like always, almost expecting to see a different face. From left to right, then tracing a finger over the smooth metal of his jaw, staring at the contrast where his upper lip met the intricate design, a line which would’ve been almost grotesque if he hadn’t tried to make himself used to it for so long.

The soft, silver glow looked like an antique, something an artist would create for a suit of armor that was never meant to be worn. Maybe more fitting of a marble statue, or a mask for the day of the dead.

Still, it was part of him now, much like the rest. He tried to accept it for what it was. What sense was there to do otherwise?

* * *

***

* * *

Once he went to the kitchen, he was greeted by the sight of Damon, and a bunch of take out.

“Figured I’ll grab these on my way back.” He said, already busy eating. It was well past lunchtime, but with both of them keeping odd times, especially with last night’s patient, food was always welcome.

“Was there an accident or something?” Looking at the neat row of coolers underneath the table, he raised an eyebrow. “You always get take out when you’ve been to see her.”

“Well, she takes some time to get the job done, can you blame a man for wanting to grab a meal? Provide for his family?” The sarcastic quip had him shake his head; it didn’t take a genius to figure Baird’s issues with his folks had been monumental. The rumors and the occasional complaint about them aside, he actually felt the man enjoyed having him around. Must’ve been quite lonely beforehand, since especially with the memory loss, the two didn’t have much in terms of common topics.

“You did get sauce, so I can’t argue with that.” He said after a glance at the various containers that were set out. Food was an interesting ground to explore, since he liked most things that ended up on the table, even finding familiarity on the taste of many, but the names always hit null. On a memorable occasion, it had taken a dictionary for him to believe the name Baird had uttered in reference of a raisin-filled pudding.

“And no accidents yet, but the war’s still taking its toll. Even more than usual, if we’re to believe her.” Shrugging his shoulders, Baird continued eating, undisturbed by the topic. “And hey, it’s not like they’ll be needing those kidneys again, I’ve told you as much. Whilst I’ve got a handful of people waiting here.” 

“Well, one could argue that with your knowledge you could be bringing all of them back instead.” He said half-heartedly, knowing it was a discussion Baird seemed to avoid.

“What for? To end up in a witch hunt, no thank you.” Huffing, Baird sat back in his seat more comfortably. He had the feeling the man would be crossing his arms if his hands weren’t still holding the takeout container. “Or for them to have to go back on that same battlefield. Sounds like a rather ill fate to wish on anyone, wouldn’t you say?”

“So it’s gonna be just me?” Sitting across from him, he crossed his legs, not yet reaching for the food. “Was it then only to sate your ego, satisfy your curiosity?”

“First of all, rude.” Pointing at him before taking another bite, Baird looked away. “Secondly, you have to realize I can’t go around stealing entire bodies en masse. Someone’s bound to notice that.”

“There was an interesting story in one of your books. About a mad scientist, who was also a grave robber. I think you two had the same goal.” Grabbing the coffee pot, he poured himself a mug, realizing that a part of him enjoyed keeping Baird on his toes like that, as childish as it was. He tried not to dwell on as to why that was.

“If you have to know, I’ve considered grave robbery. But the embalming would mess things up, plus the fresher the better, as our Lady Rogue would say.” The take-out place which doubled as a front to the organ harvester had made him wonder if people really were that obvious, or sometimes things were just allowed to go on, if the right amount of money exchanged hands.

Deciding he’d rather postpone food after Baird’s frank confession, he took a sip from the black coffee, enjoying the warmth. By the same man’s words, he’d been lucky that his tongue had been intact, or the taste of anything would’ve been the next on the list of things he’d had to get over.

That would’ve certainly been depressing.

Toeing the edge of one of the boxes with his foot, he had to admit that Baird had a point. He was actually helping people who needed the organs but were unlikely to be able to get them from the official hospitals, and he was good enough of a doctor to perform the surgery safely.

Maybe it was the humor, or just the fact that Damon’s face looked even younger than his, which had him find the whole situation so uncomfortable.

Why was their world like this? Why were some people invisible, and others send off to nearly certain death, and why making a difference would be considered that much of a crime?

Maybe observing it from the point of a stranger was why everything stood out so glaringly, and this side of life had been something he’d gotten used to in the past, growing up surrounded by it.

“You actually didn’t answer my question.” He said after a while, realizing the discussion had shifted from the initial point seemingly so seamlessly. “Would you do this again?”

“Maybe.” Baird said after a long pause, finally putting his dish back on the table. “It certainly feels more likely than not doing it ever again. But I know the risks, and just because you turned out alright, doesn’t mean it would always be the case.”

“I gotta say, I wish I had your optimism.” He shook his head slightly, glancing out of the window. Nothing but warehouses and derelict buildings met his eye. “Not many people would define me as ‘alright’.”

“Hey, a massive improvement from how I found you, and I won’t stop stressing that.” Baird grinned, leaning his elbows on the table. “You’ll see it too, one day. Now stop sulking, because there’s something important I gotta tell you.”

“I’m all ears.” He had half the mind to sigh, but didn’t want Baird to take it the wrong way. It was clear that the man was trying to make him feel better, and it seemed rude to devoice his efforts so.

“Last night I had another patient, but he left before you came downstairs.” Taking a deep breath, Baird continued. “Now, don’t get your hopes up, I could be wrong about this. But he did make me think of your mystery man.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Or call me down yesterday?” He was on his feet without realizing, though little could be accomplished from that, since he was yet to hear something concrete. “How would we find him now?”

“Don’t worry, he’s over at Paduk’s. I phoned in the morning, asked him to keep his guest around so that I can check up on his injuries.”

“So I’m supposed to tag along then?”

“Yep. And hope he won’t get suspicious and flee beforehand.”

“Did he seem like the type to do that?” He was beginning to think Baird probably had the wrong person. And after all, what was the chance of him coming here in the first place?

“Yeah, you can say that. He seemed the kind to have enough people possibly after him, and not in the nice way. But I was busy last night, and he made the decision to leave – I couldn’t exactly tell him not to, you know that.”

“Alright, so we’re going now. Let me put a jacket on.” And a scarf, he added in his mind. At least winter gave him the excuse of doing that.

He almost paused in his tracks, a thought suddenly crossing his mind.

What if it really was the man he remembered?

Was he ready to just meet him, like this, today?

Would he ever be?

Gritting his teeth, he dressed in silence, hearing Baird do the same behind him.

Seemed like the rest of the day’s activities were on a pause for now.

Several flights of stairs took them down to the ground level; Baird had apparently disabled the elevator at one point in the past, though he'd never asked why.

Blinding sunlight was the first thing to greet them, reflecting against white snow, the remnant of the previous night’s storm.

Wrapping the scarf tighter around his face, he followed in Baird’s footsteps, heart pounding in his throat.

***

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thought of those two sassing each other/being roommates is a massive source of entertainment for me :D


	3. Walk a crooked mile

* * *

***

“Thirteen-cigarettes-in-a-dead-man’s-coat.” Paduk smirked and dealt him the cards, hands swiftly swiping through the deck, the intricate backs of the paper worn with use.

Marcus found himself chuckling unwittingly as he took his hand, not yet looking at what he got.

“What? It’s the closest approximation to the Gorasnyan name.” Lifting a brow momentarily, Paduk checked his own cards, humming absentmindedly. They’d been playing for a couple of hours now, and Marcus had about memorized the rules of the game.

It was not unlike those they’d played in the army, to kill time and wager small bets. Though this variant had a few tricks and twists that he was unfamiliar with, and he found himself entertained by the challenge, since Paduk was a rather good opponent.

Silently setting down a card, he made the first move, which Paduk countered quickly – taking over the advantage he might’ve had with the opening.

Marcus tried to concentrate, as much as that was currently possible; they had a bottle of scotch between them, with about a couple of fingers worth still left in it.

They’d both woken up rather late, and while Marcus was surprised at the offer to stay, he didn’t think too hard before taking it. In the light of the day, and with quite some hours having passed, his face looked and felt like something wicked.

The booze had numbed the pain only barely, enough to make him not care much about it. And at least he didn’t have to go out in the cold like that. He’d momentarily considered if Paduk hadn’t changed his mind and decided to go after the reward he could get by reporting Marcus to the COG; since he was a deserter after all.

Call it intuition, or just more plain old recklessness, but he’d discarded that thought nearly instantly. There was something about Paduk which made him trust the man; as ridiculous as it was, since they were nary but strangers.

Going over the next few moves, Marcus picked a card, finding himself suddenly distracted by the vivid red swatch of color, the upside down heart.

He had made a promise, to take care of Dom.

But it hadn’t been so simple, nothing ever was.

They couldn’t even be assigned to the same unit – Dom was a Commando, and the fact that Marcus had chosen to enlist just like everybody else meant he didn’t get to pick and choose neither his place, nor his orders.

Only that, he had, actually.

He’d left.

Even with the Embry Star, there was no future for him anymore. The most the COG wanted to do with him now, was to put him before a firing squad.

He didn’t care about that fact, didn’t care what his father would do, or not do, to try and stop it from happening. Marcus was not even certain he’d try.

He was still looking after Dom, in his own way. But they hadn’t met more than once since all those months ago, and Marcus’ decision.

Dom had tried to change his mind, of course. And for a moment, Marcus had wished it would be the thing to sway him, to put him back in the orderly world of the COG, let him be wrought over to being all but a gear in the war machine.

And then he’d remembered the blood.

The copper-like stench of it, the biting taste of winter in the back of his throat, the moist earth and burn of gunpowder smoke.

The warm, terrifying sensation of the blood seeping between his fingers, of trying to put together flesh that was torn asunder.

It was all too late, too late.

The grenade must’ve been defective, because there was still anything left at all after it, even in such a close range. But it had proven deadly regardless, and Marcus had held the testament to that in his arms, clutching Carlos’ body against his chest.

That was when it had all ended.

Even if he had held out until after the funeral, it was but an automation; a shock response.

There hadn’t been anything which could get him back out there. Simply no point, no cause, no justice, if there had ever been any to begin with.

And Dom seemed to have sensed it. Because he didn’t press further, didn’t chase after him, didn’t berate him for that choice.

He had told Marcus, that he’d always be there for him. And Marcus didn’t doubt that. Yet there was little he could actually do, even if he returned to Dom’s house, to his family.

_‘Your family too.’_ Dom had stressed, just like always. He was a honorary Santiago, Carlos had told him so from the start. _Promised._

Hand reaching for the tags under his shirt almost by a reflex, he followed the smooth metal with his fingertips, deaf and blind to the world.

He didn’t believe that anyone could help him anymore. Nothing could ever heal this kind of loss.

He’d tried to numb down his mind, to lose himself in a world he’d never ventured in before, even if it had always been a few shady streets and several wrong turns away. He fought, he drank, he passed out more often than he actually slept.

And even that had barely been enough to help him carry on. He’d stared down the barrel of a gun more times than he’d cared to count, but it was always the same treacherous thought that kept him from pulling the trigger, the same sense of unfathomable guilt.

If he died, he wouldn’t remember.

And Carlos deserved to be remembered, in the way only Marcus had been privy to know him. The whole of him, the entirety a human heart could hold. They’d spent most of their lives together, grown and changed from children to men.

Although, he rarely felt like one nowadays, adrift in his sorrow like a lost child again.

He had to wake up every morning knowing he’d never see Carlos’ smile again, never have the two of them spend a day in bed, entangled in each other and out of breath but full of longing in turn; would never hear his voice, listen to him talk about anything and everything. Never work side by side in silence, basking in the sun, never see their nephews play, grow up, never sit down by the table at dinner and truly be whole as a family.

Now he’d barely been able to look at Carlos’ mother and father in the eye, even when they’d both embraced him, bursting in tears when he’d given them what news no parents ever wanted to hear. He’d felt like he’d betrayed their trust, their care; he’d failed to bring their son home alive.

They were his family too, and knowing their love for him made the pain cut so much deeper.

Marcus never tried to imagine the way he’d have ended up like if Carlos hadn’t been there; the thought itself had been monstrous, an idea he didn’t even wish to approach, lingering at the back of his mind like a caged beast.

He had been truly himself only around him. Allowed to learn and to make mistakes and to take the offered hand when he’d been down, to get back up on his feet. To love and be loved in return.

Always by his side, even if they didn’t always agree on things, even if there were moments where life had tried to place them at crossroads – they’d both chosen to walk together.

And now he was alone.

“Twelve of hearts.” Setting down the all-red hand, Marcus leaned back in his chair, mind returning to the dimly lit room, the haze of tobacco smoke filling the air. Taking a swig from the bottle, he watched as Paduk smirked, a lazy curl of the lip that he suddenly found endearing.

“There is a reason why it’s called thirteen, this game.” Pulling the only red-hearted ace from his own revealed hand, Paduk tossed it over, letting it cover Marcus’ cards. “This one takes ‘em all. Without it, a twelve-hand is still strong, but not infallible.”

There was a painting on the wall, slightly askew; a watercolor of mountains and grassy hills covered in vivid violet flowers. It seemed too out of place, all so peaceful, that it made Marcus wonder if its scenery ever existed in reality.

“It’s a gamble; win or lose everything.” He idly scratched around his bandage, wincing a bit as even such a mediocre action made a jolt of pain flare up through his face. “But I’m out of anything to give.”

“Here I thought we weren’t playing for stakes.” Paduk gathered all cards again, but didn’t shuffle the deck when Marcus silently shook his head.

He needed another drink. Or a nap. Maybe both.

“Want something for the pain?” Paduk pulled a small plastic container of pills from his pants pocket, before twirling it between his fingers, almost like a parlor coin trick. “They ain’t the funny kind, but I don’t give no guarantees after so much alcohol.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He took the bottle and twisted the cap off. It was half-empty.

Usually that wasn’t his flavor when it came to poison of choice, but Marcus found himself teetering a fine line between exhaustion and hyperawareness, and he definitely didn’t want the latter.

Too much pain sharpened his gaze, made the world darker. Just enough, and he could fall in restless slumber, his body focused on repairing itself rather than tormenting him with nightmares, though, much like with the pills, there were no guarantees.

So he gulped down a couple of them, washing the bitter taste away with the last of the scotch, which earned him a shake of the head from Paduk. Still, the man didn’t comment, in a reaction, or lack thereof, that Marcus had grown to expect.

“Just don’t go making yourself sick now.” He muttered after they sat in silence for a while, and Marcus huffed in response.

They’d had a day-old takeout earlier, that sat still in his stomach for now, though Marcus couldn’t even recall the taste anymore. Some things, he found himself brushing through like in a scene from a silent movie, all black and white. They must’ve happened, because he remembered them, but he never felt quite there in the moment they did.

Getting over to the sofa was harder than expected, the room swaying lightly at the edge of his vision the moment he stood up.

“Easy now, told ya it could hit you hard.” Paduk was by his side in an instant, arm curling over his waist in support.

“Don’ worry.” Marcus managed to mutter out as they took a few steps, before slowly crashing over the cushions, his mind beginning to feel distinctly not unlike cotton candy. “’S all good.”

“I’m sure it is.” Throwing a blanket over him, Paduk stood by his side for a while. In the grey light of the day, his hair looked more platinum than blonde, almost like a halo.

But, Marcus knew, he was no angel. Didn’t mean he was a bad man though.

Closing his eyes, he slowly drifted off, disjointed images flashing through his mind like cards in the hand of a skilled gambler. He couldn’t dwell on them, and didn’t, knowing they meant that sleep wasn’t far.

***

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:
> 
> ****  
> ***  
> **  
> *  
> Paduk, seeing a messTM: i love you, you funky little bastard  
> (the way I feel him, it seems, as I look back to Baird and Fahz. Tho Baird was canon asjhdfkgflhjh)
> 
> Nevermind me, it's 5 in the morning here


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rating goes to E for this one

  
***

* * *

“He’s asleep now.” Paduk says in lieu of greeting, the door open just enough to reveal his face.

A cigarette’s dangling from his lips as he eyes them up, before moving to let them in.

The air in the room is heavy with tobacco smoke, and warm – in contrast with the frigid weather outside.

A dull ache spreads through his cheeks, and he realizes it’s the cold, now that some parts of him are metal, and just a scarf isn’t enough to keep them warm.

Pulling the cloth off, he doesn’t think twice before discarding it to the side along with his coat. Paduk knows him, or well, he has seen him already. Maybe even a bit more than that, from the snippets of conversation between him and Baird he’d caught on a couple of occasions.

Sometimes he wonders about the reasons Paduk has to linger around the good doctor, some sort of an instinctual feeling having told him the man wasn’t all that he seemed to be on the surface.

Paduk had medical experience, that much he knew, having seen him help Baird with his patients sometimes, but aside from that, he knows little else about the man. Maybe it’s just professional curiosity, if he’s aware of the extent of Baird’s more… experimental line of work.

Either way, he feels like a bit of a wild card, much like himself in a way.

“He’s out cold, by the looks of it.” Baird was frowning, and he followed his gaze to the sofa. “But he was up today, right?”

“Yep. We had a few drinks, perhaps a little more than that.” Paduk had leaned on the kitchen table, a lazy smirk curling his lips as he stubbed the cigarette away in an overflowing ashtray. “Not a day to go out in, plus he was in pain.”

From this angle, he couldn’t see the man laid out on the sofa; a few steps around it would be all that takes to face him, find out if he knew him or not.

Yet he found himself hesitant to cross that small distance.

Baird had no such qualms however, and was already crouching next to the sofa, apparently checking out the work he’s done the previous evening. Undisturbed too, by the looks of it.

So the man was, in fact, sound asleep. That made it easier, somehow, he thought.

He could have a moment, without worrying what the reaction on the other side would be.

At his face, and well, at him in general.

Glancing back up, he found that Paduk was looking at him, his gaze betraying a hint of interest.

Seems like he wanted to see what _his_ reaction was going to be.

Heart beating faster in his chest, he strode over to the sofa, catching a glimpse of black curls; then the rest of him was in sight.

Swaying lightly on his feet, he didn’t even dare to breathe out.

For a long moment, he could only stare, transfixed; hoping this wasn’t another dream, that he wasn’t about to wake within a second of his moment of awareness.

Coming down to a kneel quietly, he rested his hands on the cushions, not daring to touch him, to disturb him.

He had seen that face before, so many times, and not only in his dreams.

It wasn’t that everything magically came back to him, that was never an expectation, it wasn’t something which Baird had told him was likely.

But there were bits and pieces, as if fragments broken off a whole that now came together.

Dark circles under his eyes, ink, bruises, a five-o-clock shadow; but the face was the same despite of it. High cheekbones, strong brow, a nose almost unfitting the rest of his features, giving his face a boyish softness, youth that the bruises and fatigue couldn’t mask.

Ink-black curls fell over his forehead, and underneath, on the right side of his face, he could see a mass of bandages, apparently what Baird have had to deal with.

But it wasn’t all he saw.

Ever so slowly, he reached forth, a finger gently tucking a curl away to reveal the tattoo underneath.

Complex, black cursive sprawled over his right brow, spelling out a name.

_Carlos._

_“Carlos!”_

He nearly jumps up, half asleep, not certain what’s going on. His brain takes a moment to catch up, the soft darkness of the room and the warmth of the covers all too inviting, making him wish to curl up and return to unconsciousness.

But he’s sitting in bed, the figure before him barely outlined by the early morning light, dusk more like it, since the sun’s not up yet. A hand’s shaking his shoulder, and a wide grin fills up his vision.

Followed by a pair of ice-blue eyes, a single brow cocked up mischievously.

“Come on, don’t want to be late.” The voice is low, a rough rumble that feels softer than one would expect. “Reed will have our asses if we’re late for drills.”

“She can have mine for five more minutes of sleep.” He’s yawning as he says it, eyelids heavy with fatigue, the chill of the small room biting at the exposed skin of his shoulders and back. He gathers up the blankets around himself, almost ready to doze off while sitting.

“Shh, best behavior and we’re having tomorrow off, remember?” Marcus is struggling to pull a sweater on, his chest and biceps stretching out the fabric. “And maybe even tonight.”

He’s staring, alright. How could he not?

“Here I thought you had stopped growing already.” He mumbles before realizing, face heating up nearly instantly. He’s glad for the relative dark of the room, knowing Marcus won’t see him blushing.

“I – maybe the washer’s been on too hot.” Marcus seems to pause for a moment, before pulling the shirt all the way down over his tank top, and tucking it into his pants. “Seems to be the same length though.”

Now Carlos was definitely feeling more than only sleepy.

Grinning, he reached forward, hooking a finger in the belt loops of Marcus’ cargo pants. He pulled, satisfied to see him step closer, a hand carding thought his hair.

“We definitely don’t have the time for that.” Marcus sighed, but his hand was still reluctant to let go, curling under Carlos’ chin, turning his face up.

Then he leaned over, pressing their lips together.

Chasing after the next kiss, when this one ended up way too quickly for his taste, Carlos got up. His arms coming up and over Marcus’ shoulders, one hand resting on the nape of his neck while the other sneaked down and over the curve of his waist, pulling him in closer.

He still wore only his boxer shorts, and the room was colder than not.

Sarfuth was forever gonna embed itself in his memory as cold, cold, cold.

But Marcus’ body was hot against his, and he really didn’t want to let go.

Yet they had to, he knew as much.

Marcus was stronger, and broke off the kiss first; but still rested his forehead against him, and Carlos could see him close his eyes, trying to get himself on track.

Neither wanted to be stuck doing chores, or picking up the slack on someone else’s shift.

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” He whispered, placing a quick peck on the tip of Marcus’ nose, before rushing to find his clothing.

Doing a little flamingo dance with his socks, he caught the sweater Marcus threw his way next, and put it on in a haste; then the pants, the belt giving him a momentary struggle.

Marcus was already mid-way through his armor, and Carlos helped him with a few tugs and straps, then reached to get his own gear, cursing at the needlessly complicated design.

He pulled on his hat while Marcus laced his boots, do-rag already in place; Carlos could swear he was like a magician with that damn thing, able to tie it on in the blink of an eye.

A loud shuffle could be heard in the corridor outside their room, and they shared a glance.

“Go, go – I’ll catch up.” He half pushed Marcus out of the door as he jumped in his boots, watching him walk away with uncertainty.

But at least one of them could get out of being reprimanded, thought Carlos knew Marcus would come with him during a punishment on principle.

Still, cursing as he tightened the last part of his high boots, he nearly ran out of the door, hoping that the sergeant would be in a good mood today.

Like never. Or late.

At this point, Carlos thought, might as well keep dreaming.

The cold air outside felt like a slap, burning in his lungs as he took in a hurried breath; but he didn’t let that deter him, instead falling in line along the others quickly. Marcus gave him a sidelong glance, and Carlos breathed a sigh of relief, noticing he was just in time.

Everyone’s breath hanged in clouds above them, opaque white in the freezing temperature.

Snow glimmered around, and heavy clouds shrouded the sky; even if the sun had come up already, it would’ve barely make a difference in the light.

Allowing himself a small smile as he remembered the kiss which his morning had begun with, Carlos took his stance, hearing the crunching of snow under the boots of Sergeant Reed.

Yeah, he was ready to face the day.

* * *

***

* * *

“Now I understand what dad meant with the hot sauce.” He huffed, before pouring a third of the bottle’s content over his steaming ration package. “Can almost not taste the rest like this.”

“It’s not that bad.” Marcus was digging in his own pack, chewing intently.

As if. Carlos could honestly say that Marcus’ stomach must be akin to a galvanized tank, for how literally nothing could faze him; hot sauce or not, he’d never complained about their food.

“Never thought I can miss ma’s cooking so much.” He ate another bite, followed by a chunk of rye bread, probably the best part of the ensemble. It wasn’t enough that the Sarfuth FOB base was cold enough to, as Marcus had put it gently, freeze the balls of Embry’s statue; but they were occasionally stuck away from the cafeteria too. On long, slow hours of patrolling an empty swatch of snow-covered land, filled with nothing but snow rodents and an Immulsion pipeline.

There was the border of course, the invisible red line drawn over the harsh terrain, on occasion crossed by deserters and indies alike.

They were meant to stop those who’d try and sabotage the pipeline, and have done so before; but Carlos wasn’t sure what he’d do if faced with someone crossing outwards from Tyrus.

He’d heard of a few such cases, reported by the other squads, but never seen it for himself.

Regulations covered this, he was certain. Marcus had read and memorized all of those, it seemed.

But he couldn’t quite see himself shooting someone in the back, not without a good reason that was. Such as obvious attempt at hostility, or like before, intent to sabotage the line.

He knew that anyone crossing over would eventually be caught by the indie equivalent of their FOB – and promptly brought in for questioning. Like any incoming people on their side, who couldn’t prove their identity or reasons for venturing so far out.

And especially military personnel could carry valuable intel, something that shouldn’t come in possession of the other side.

But killing them for it... Carlos didn’t think that was in his books. Or pay grade.

They had stopped for a while, the interior of the APC freezing despite the heater running on the maximum setting; the engine rumbled on idle, the only way to prevent it from literally freezing and refusing to turn on again.

It was a miserable ordeal, which had him wonder if this land had ever been a part of the COG’s agenda before the pipeline was built.

Hardly anything to make it worth the resources and effort otherwise, which were substantial.

“How long do you think, before they station us elsewhere?” He asked, finally pushing away the last of the empty ration bags. What he’d give for a steaming mug of tea right about now. “We’ve been here for months. I’m tired of freezing my ass out all the time.”

“Hey, spring will come eventually.” Marcus leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. His lancer rested over his thighs, the way it had the entire time during their late lunch. He always did things by regulation. Carlos’ own rifle was propped over the dashboard. “Even this place’s ought to defrost some.”

“You think?” Carlos knew that some people would be grateful to be deployed in their place. Yet, patience had never been one of his strong sides, so endless drills and shifts aside, he was getting bored. By the scenery, the lack of sun, the cold. “It’s just that I feel like we could be doing more.”

“We’re doing enough, for now.” Marcus always seemed to be the opposite; able to sit still for hours, on the outlook for anything disturbing the monochrome area surrounding them. He would’ve probably made a good sniper, Carlos reckoned. “Also, I thought I was keeping you warm well enough.”

“Hm, it’s about the rest of the time and you know it.” Huffing, Carlos shook his head slightly. He was grateful for one thing on this godforsaken base; the small rooms.

Theirs had just a couple of cots, one placed above the other, and the rest of the space barely big enough for them to turn in when wearing the armor.

Which ended up piled in front of the door in the evenings, and Carlos hadn’t slept in his designated cot more than once since they’d settled.

If Marcus was bothered by the cold, he didn’t show it. And when they slept, held Carlos close, the heat of his body the best way to keep warm in the otherwise frigid room.

He couldn’t complain about that one bit.

Big bunk rooms, such as in basic, were the worst. They’d had to spent months apart, with barely any possible way to steal a moment alone.

Hell, Carlos hadn’t even thought about using those moments for anything more than a tight hug and intense lip-lock, both of them so touch starved and desperate to get in each other’s space that it was almost ridiculous.

He’d almost felt like being a teen again, the same sense of secrecy and want coursing through his mind. The same stolen glances, Marcus’ gaze heavy only for him. Dreaming of getting to kiss him, to touch him.

So their deployment at Sarfuth came as a blessing and a curse, as much as he couldn’t stop stressing the fact. They could do more than sleep side by side as well…

“We have tonight off.” Marcus reminded him, his lips curling ever so slightly. To anyone who didn’t know him the way Carlos did, it wouldn’t have meant much. But he knew better.

Marcus was excited, and it showed in a plethora of miniscule ways throughout their shift, especially notable near the end.

They didn’t even have the civilian radio on, despite the trashball game that was about to begin soon.

Thinking about it, Carlos realized it had been a while since they had more than eight hours for themselves in any occasion that wasn’t strictly sleep related. They’d been in rotation for several weeks, and his fatigue in the morning was a clear sign that breaks for sleep wasn’t all it took for his body and mind to rest up fully.

“Jenkins is gonna be so mad, you know he hates the night watch.” Jenkins and Bert were next in line to experience the APC’s debatable coziness, but that wasn’t the only reason for their apprehension to get in the spot.

“He ought to get over that fear of the dark one day. The indies won’t always wait ‘till the sun’s up.” Marcus hummed, before shifting the APC into gear. Slowly, he began driving the long route back, eyes on the road and occasionally the fields on the side.

“’S what I keep telling him too.” Carlos drummed his fingers over his lancer, trying to get some feeling back into them. The gloves didn’t really help much with the cold. He sure hoped he wouldn’t have to shoot at anyone tonight, that’s for sure. “He keeps the damn lights on. Anyone in a mile away can see ‘em coming and scram.”

“Makes for uneventful nights though.” Marcus added. “They’d best hope there’s no snipers around.”

“Think anyone would dare get a shot on this side of the border?” Carlos hummed, though he wouldn’t be surprised. The recent attacks had him think that the enemy was getting desperate. Must be true then, that the COG was pushing on in victory after all.

“If it makes someone’s day, who knows.” Marcus glanced at the clock; another sign that he was getting impatient for their shift to finally end. The clouds hadn’t dispersed throughout the entire day, but the cold light was seeping out of the horizon, signaling the early evening wasn’t far. Another half an hour went by, the APC practically crawling over the uneven, frozen road.

“Can’t wait to get back and run a nice, long shower.” Keep dreaming, Carlos told himself. The hot water supply came from underground, some sort of a geyser formation that the local villages had tapped into centuries ago. The COG had followed, installing it into the base; and while they couldn’t shower on forever, one could indulge from time to time.

“Mmm wish I could join you.” Marcus could, in fact. But only in the sense the military applied to the term ‘communal shower’… The other kind, Carlos mused sadly, wouldn’t be a thing they can do until their next time off at home. That was unknown time away now.

“You surely can later on.” Carlos leaned to the side slightly and bumped his shoulder into Marcus’, his tone teasing. “In fact, I can think of a whole lot of things you can do after that shower.”

“Later…” Marcus looked almost coy, glancing away to the gate outpost which was now in sight. The APC came to a halt when he reached the barrier, waiting for the patrolling guards to check his pass and look through the side windows.

If they noticed the redness over his nose and cheeks, Carlos knew, they’d think it was just the cold.

* * *

***

* * *

There was still a risk, of course.

The doors didn’t have locks, and anyone could walk in.

But, overall, people on base respected boundaries, as much as those could exist in the army. Carlos had been somewhat surprised by the fact, but Marcus had reminded him that most Gears spent anywhere from six to eight months in that frozen tin can; and other essential personnel had been around for years.

The only way not to go crazy with cabin fever was to respect people’s time off.

So, without much preamble, they stacked their armor in front of the door, along with the only chair in the room and their rifles, just like they did every night.

It wouldn’t really stop anyone determined enough to barge in, but would make enough of a racket to give them a few precious seconds of warning.

Raising suspicion or not, as long as they weren’t caught in the act, they had a leeway which could end with just a stern word about having messy quarters, and some banal punishment.

Admittedly, Carlos always felt a trill because of the danger of what they were doing, even if he’d rather not think of the actual consequences were they ever caught.

They’d always been close, but how close exactly was something nobody else had been privy to.

Initially, of course, it had been friendship, it had been a sense of child-like innocence and care; they’d become best friends, inseparable like brothers in the years after.

But, even that hadn’t been close enough.

Sighing contently as Marcus’ lips traveled on the side of his neck ever so slowly, a teasing trail of kisses, Carlos closed his eyes, arms wrapped leisurely around his body.

They had all night to themselves.

The last call for the night shift had sounded half an hour ago, so they were safe from any kind of last minute change of plans. Unless the indies picked this particular night to invade, which was unlikely, it meant their part of the base was asleep, and no one would bother them at least until the morning.

Hand sneaking up, he took off Marcus’ bandana in one smooth move, chucking at the gruff noise it earned him.

“You know I can’t stand that thing.” He said, now free to run his hand over Marcus’ hair, feeling the closely cropped strands. It was barely enough to run his fingers through, and definitely not enough to freely grab; but those were the woes of military regulations.

He’d wanted to curse someone when they’d first cut Marcus’ hair; taken away a part of him Carlos had always had a particular fondness of.

“Maybe it’ll grow out some the next time we’re home.” Marcus’ tone was placating, his lips taking a momentary detour; Carlos returned the kiss eagerly, holding him close. He himself obviously hated his haircut, enough to wear the said bandana, but knew Carlos never missed a chance to get to see him without it.

Hips canting up at the thigh Marcus had propped between his legs, he could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of their boxers. The wall against his back was cold, but they hadn’t quite made it to the bed just yet.

Marcus always touched him with such focus, such reverence that Carlos almost didn’t know what to do with himself, faced with his intensity. Hands traveling over his shoulders, down his chest; pressing at the swell of his pecs, caressing his abdomen, the curve of his waist; then back, a constant dance between their kisses, like Marcus just couldn’t get enough of him through all his senses.

“Stay.” Marcus’ voice was barely audible, but he pressed one last kiss against the column of Carlos’ neck, before disappearing from sight. Carlos looked down, seeing him drop to his knees soundlessly.

Hands feeling over the width of his thighs, up and down as he nipped at the small softness over his belly, and Carlos could barely suppress a moan at the sight of him alone. The touches had stirred him on further, and he was straining against his boxers, dampening the cloth with pre-cum.

Hands grabbing at the waistband of his shorts, Marcus pulled them down, just enough to uncover him; then, hands remaining where they were, with nary but one last glance up, he buried his face against Carlos’ hardness, tongue leaving a wet trail over it.

Biting on his own hand, he panted hard, reminding himself he absolutely had to be quiet. The walls were thin enough that nearly anything could carry through; especially if people in the other room were still awake.

Resting his other hand on Marcus’ head, he caressed his temple gently, a soft sign: slowly.

Looking up at him through his lashes, Marcus nodded; the tip of his tongue wetting those gorgeously plump lips, a sight Carlos could commit to memory thousand times and more.

Hand reaching to slowly stroke Carlos’ dick, before he was on him again; tonguing at the crown, teasing the slit for a moment before taking him in his mouth fully. Carlos’ body tensed as he felt himself sink in that wet heat, inch by inch, Marcus able to take him all the way down by now.

They’d had plenty of practice, but he always found it unbelievably erotic, the sheer dedication and want Marcus had for him. The way he’d sneak a hand down to his own erection, turned on by the act, by Carlos’ taste and scent.

On each upstroke, he’d take in a raspy breath, then do it all over again, building up a steady pace which Carlos could follow; thrusting into his mouth lightly, the hand over Marcus’ head urging him on.

He felt Marcus’ free hand grabbing at his ass as he quickened up his pace, a barely there reverberation of a groan at the back of his throat; he was close. For all the moments Marcus could usually be quiet in, this wasn’t one, as Carlos knew well.

“I got you, okay…” He whispered in reassurance. One of the many things he wanted to say but most of those were too risky to utter, with the door as their only form of privacy.

Still, he saw that Marcus didn’t want things to end too quickly for either of them, even if they did have the rest of the night ahead. He pulled away with a wet pop, resting his face against Carlos’ lilac crest for a moment; his lips were wet and shiny, face red – a barely there shadow of stubble adorned his strong jaw.

Carlos moaned lightly when Marcus picked that same moment to rub his chin against the sensitive tip of his dick, the prickly sensation of his stubble surprisingly good.

Biting his lip, he stroked Marcus’ cheek gently until he got his attention.

“Do that again.” He whispered, this time ready to keep quiet.

“Huh…” Marcus seemed just as surprised at him, but repeated the motion, hand holding the base of Carlos’ dick, slick with saliva and pre-cum.

His thighs shook with the bolt of pleasure that ran through his core, and he tasted blood on the tip of his tongue, fighting hard to keep quiet. Marcus was a quick learner however, and saw his chance, alternating the movement with licking and sucking on him again, his soft panting filling the quiet room.

Carlos knew if it wasn’t for the wall at his back, his legs would’ve given up already. All he could do at this point was hold on and enjoy the ride, which he most definitely did.

Not realizing when he’d shut his eyes, he opened them again, noticing that Marcus was now stroking himself again, hand in his own boxers, his thick thighs straining with the effort. He took Carlos’ whole length again, the grit of him stretching his lips beautifully. Carlos couldn’t keep from thrusting up, feeling the tightness of Marcus’ throat constricting around him.

Then he relaxed, and met his eyes, hand stroking around Carlos’ thigh, an open book he’d learned cover to cover a long time ago.

It was his turn to set the pace, to tip Marcus over the edge, let him lose himself in his pleasure.

Which he did gladly, chasing the heat of him, noting the expression of near painful ecstasy crossing Marcus’ features.

He could keep quiet, in one way: if Carlos was making sure he wouldn’t make a sound.

So he did, gauging the right moment by heart, by knowing how to read the signs of Marcus coming apart; with one last deep thrust, he held Marcus’ head down, felt him tense for a long moment, then go lax against his abdomen; the hand on his thigh sliding down.

Pulling away, he watched him draw in a deep breath, keeping a point of contact between them; forehead pressed against Carlos’ hip, his shoulders twitching slightly.

He loved seeing Marcus’ more intense orgasms, the sight of him coming undone in such a way was something that made Carlos even forget his own pleasure for a while. All that mattered was making Marcus feel good, giving him all he wanted, all he needed.

Sliding down the wall, Carlos pulled him close until he rested against his chest, then sought his lips in a messy kiss, Marcus returning it unhurriedly, arms wrapping over his waist briefly.

“You didn’t—“ he muttered, voice even more raspy than usual, hand traveling over Carlos’ abdomen.

“Yeah, well it won’t take much.” Carlos replied with a small laugh, reaching to cover Marcus’ hand with his own, before guiding it further down. Gasping against his lips as the rough skin of Marcus’ callouses rubbed over him, he set a quick pace. Face slipping to the crook of Marcus’ neck, he kissed over the skin gently, as ever mindful not to leave a mark; they couldn’t afford to do that.

Marcus stroked him deftly, a thumb swiping over the head from time to time, knowing well what could get Carlos over the edge. Many other times they’d laid in bed instead, entangled in one another, too tired for anything but a quick moment of exchanged pleasure – he felt that he knew Marcus’ hand better than his own by now.

Fingers digging in the muscles of Marcus’ back, he tensed, before spilling hotly, chasing the last of his high in Marcus’ strokes.

“Made a… right mess, didn’t we…” Grinning against Marcus’ skin, he glanced down, noting how he’d come all over his belly and Marcus’ fingers alike.

“Mmmm it’s not that bad…” Marcus chuckled, then brought his hand up through the cum on Carlos’ belly, before sucking over each finger slowly.

The visual reminder of his recent position was enough to make Carlos groan lowly, before jokingly biting the tip of Marcus’ ear.

“Give a man five minutes of rest at least, will you?” He huffed, though admittedly knew he definitely wasn’t done for the night. Both of them weren’t, as it seemed.

“I can wait.” Marcus’ tone was teasing, something that he rarely got to hear in this setting nowadays. “Also, that’s a happy birthday to you.”

“Oh wait, what—“ Then Carlos did a quick mental reminder of the calendar, and laughed out loud for real this time around. The clock on the wall read well past midnight too. “Okay, you got me. It totally slipped my mind. Is this why we have the day off tomorrow? You arranged that somehow, didn’t you?”

“Maybe I did.” Moving slightly, so that both of them leaned against the wall now, Marcus ran a finger over Carlos’ inner thigh in a gentle, almost absentminded way. “Can’t guarantee about cake however.”

“A chocolate might do too. I’m not picky. Think it’s cause I already got my main gift, right here.” Smirking, he took Marcus’ hand, interlacing their fingers together.

“Yeah? Well…” Marcus looked down, almost shyly again.

Even where they were now, after everything, Carlos found it endearing that he could still get Marcus to look so innocent sometimes. It reminded him that Marcus carried his heart on his sleeve, and that was something he felt responsible for too, in a way.

He never wanted to do him wrong, no matter what.

Leaning over, he placed a kiss on Marcus’ cheek, their hands still clasped together tightly.

* * *

***


	5. Jailbait

***

* * *

Cursing as an alarm sounded somewhere far into the complex, he continued riffling through the desk’s contents. It had to be here, there was no other place he hadn’t turned inside out already.

Finally, his fingers grazed something smooth and cold; the data disk, buried under a bunch of paperwork in the lowest cabinet.

Pocketing it quickly, he slid under the desk as hurried footsteps sounded right outside the door. How hadn’t he noticed earlier?

The door opened and closed before he could think of anything else, and that alone was enough to give him a pause. Why close it, and more so, there hadn’t been the telltale click of the light switch just yet either.

Unless…

Someone bumped hard against the desk with a quiet curse, and then a dark shape nearly pivoted into the small space left underneath it, limbs colliding with his.

His own curse was matched by another, and that startled them both enough to make them freeze.

It gave him the time to notice that whoever had just discovered him was rather much smaller than he’d expect from a guard or an orderly. In fact, what he could see in the vague light that came from the frosted glass window before them, was a rather boyish face looking back at him in shock.

“You don’t look like a patient.” The stranger remarked with a frown, speaking before he’d had the chance to. His voice sounded on the verge of hysterics, despite the low tone.

“But you do.” He said in turn, voice hushed. Still, it seemed to make the boy flinch regardless.

Another loud crash sounded somewhere close; that same door he’d unlocked so carefully mere half an hour ago. So they were really getting closer.

“You can’t let them get to me again, please.”

An arm grabbed at his sleeve, the fingers white with strain; he glanced back at the boy’s terrified blue eyes. He looked like a startled animal, a hare or a deer, but Paduk found no trace of madness in his gaze.

Maybe…

“They were going to lobotomize me, If I don’t make it out now I’ll never get another chance to run away.” His voice finally broke, tears overflowing his eyelids as he turned his face away.

It strung a chord within him, alright. Even if this was the last thing he should be doing, even if it would actually make his break in perfectly implausible to leave that boy in – who was going to believe the word of an asylum patient anyways?

But he couldn’t. Even if this boy was Tyran, enemy or not, Paduk realized he’d already made his choice.

“Come with me, but if you make a sound – you’re dead.” He pulled him closer by the hem of the shirt, noticed the eager nod and the hand that now relaxed its grip on his arm.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor ahead, and he sighed. They’d told him; no lethal force unless absolutely necessary.

Well screw that, it became necessary.

Bringing up his pistol, he slid the safety away and waited.

He could feel the boy’s erratic breath against his neck, the cramped space behind the desk barely enough for them both to fit in.

If he had something to say about the gun, he kept it to himself.

The door opened, light pouring through. The dance of a flashlight shone against the walls and floor, and Paduk squinted his eyes, having gotten accustomed to the darkness.

The assailants seemed suspiciously quiet; however, he could still hear their footsteps.

When the first one came in sight, he wasted no time.

Rolling out from underneath the desk, he sent a bullet in the man’s skull; a loud pop, the silencer suppressing the worst of the gunshot.

Before the other guard or orderly could raise an alarm or even shout, he’d got him in his line of fire.

Pop!

The body slumped down against the doorframe, flashlight clattering onto the tile. A grotesque line of gore sprayed the door behind it, blood pooling over the light blue scrubs he wore.

Staff then.

“Seems like they didn’t alert the guards just yet.” He muttered, quickly checking the corridor for any sign of a third person.

“They were the ones who tried to tie me to the table.” The boy’s voice was low, but a shudder betrayed his emotions. Paduk turned just in time to watch him feebly kick at the first body, an expression of disgust and equal amount of relief crossing his features.

He hadn’t met many people who’d react so to seeing their first dead body, but maybe this wasn’t a first for the boy.

Briefly, he wondered if he’d read him wrong after all, but then decided there was little point to worrying now.

“We have to move.” He barked back, holding his pistol low. “Stay close, and you might just make it out of here in one piece.”

The boy’s head snapped back up, as if he was a puppet on a string; but he simply nodded again, and stepped closer.

Paduk felt unsettled by having him behind his back, so he quickly walked forward, away from his initial point of entry. The boy’s footsteps were so light, that even he could barely make them out.

“Was there anyone else in that room with you.” He decided to ask, just in case.

“A nurse, the doctor was just about to come in too.” The boy said, and Paduk noticed he was keeping by his side cautiously, with awareness of their surroundings. Definitely lucid then, even if afraid.

“Damn it.” It meant that someone else was likely going to come look, since the other two wouldn’t be returning anytime soon. “How important were you, for them to want to do this?”

“Quite.” The boy said after a long pause. They went through another corridor; the building was like a damn maze. But thankfully, one that Paduk had spent days familiarizing himself with, from various blueprints. “My father paid a lot of money for me to be kept here.”

“And have them turn your brain into scrambled eggs?” He grunted out absentmindedly. It was supposed to be here somewhere…

“Best believe it.” The boy didn’t elaborate further, and Paduk stopped before one of the high wooden panels covering the inner wall.

The twin moons chose that moment to peek through the clouds, bathing the dark corridor in checkered light; the windows were all grated up, despite the intricate design of the glasswork.

“Here we go.” He smirked and pulled one of the wooden eagle ornaments to the side; the wall caved inward with a low squeaking sound. Just like he’d expected, that route hadn’t been used in a long time.

“What is this.” A hand grabbed his arm again, this time not just the sleeve.

“Just come in, before someone else catches sight of us.” He whispered in a harsh tone, but the boy stepped after him nonetheless.

Pushing at the hidden door again, he closed it, until the narrow place was pitch black.

“Stay put.” He said again, and holstered his weapon. Rifling through his pockets, he found the light stick and cracked it, the dim glow just enough to give the space before them shape.

The stone masonry was uncovered, and ancient spider webs crossed up in the narrow staircase that went downward, its end shrouded in darkness.

“After you.” He might’ve been many things, but he was not naïve. He wouldn’t risk getting his neck broken by a wayward asylum patient.

“Okay.” The boy said with a surprising lack of protest, though his hold on Paduk’s arm remained as he took the first tentative step down. “Wherever this leads, it’s better than what waits for me up there.”

“True. Now keep quiet, someone could hear us.” He stepped down as well, carefully; the masonry was damp, and the steps barely wide enough for him to keep his balance on.

Their descend through at least three floors took a while, but finally, the stairs ended.

A wooden door darkened with time and mold was the only thing at the other end of the narrow stone passage.

“It’s probably locked.” He noted, but gave the door a solid push regardless. It didn’t bulge. “I’ll get to it then.”

Tossing the now dimming glow stick to the ground, he took his lock picking tools; it seemed like forever ago, even though it had been less than an hour since he’d last used them. The old lock shouldn’t give him more problems than any of the ones on the upper floors, but he proceeded with caution regardless.

Switching to the next tool, he caught a faint sound from his side; turning to look, he noted that the boy tried and failed to keep his teeth from chattering. He was barefoot after all, and dressed only in a thin cotton nightgown.

“Just a moment.” He muttered before getting back to the task at hand. A resounding click told him he’d finally succeeded, and he pushed the heavy door until it opened up a couple of inches.

There was something on the other side, but he was sure another strong push would get the job done.

First things first though.

Putting his tools away, he got up; the boy didn’t meet his eyes this time.

“Take this.” Slipping his jacket off his shoulders, he handed it to the boy, who seemed rather surprised at the gesture.

“Thank you.” He said in turn, and Paduk watched him put on and zip the jacket; engulfed in the olive green fabric, only his swatch of bright blonde hair stood out in the darkness.

Giving the door one last push, he stepped out, boots instantly sinking in nearly a foot of mud.

“Bloody hell.” He huffed, but it shouldn’t have surprised him really. They were in an ancient aqueduct, and the recent melting of the snow had likely flooded a lot of old canals. “Come up here.”

Glancing at the boy, he patted his leg, then turned his back towards him.

“Are you sure? I’m heavier than I look.” The boy muttered, but Paduk felt him tentatively climb on his back, arms wrapping over his shoulders.

“You’re really not.” He said in turn, and grabbed a better hold of the boy’s legs, hoisting them around his waist. “Just hold on, it won’t be pleasant to drop in all that.”

“I bet.” A note of disgust crept in his voice. “Is this the sewers?”

“I can only hope not.” Taking out another light stick, he cracked it and took a second to pick the right path.

The wide, round aqueduct spawned on ahead, with plenty of space for a man of even his height to be able to walk through comfortably.

“Will they not find us here?” The boy asked after about ten minutes, in which Paduk had been trying his best to remember the path he’d outlined in the blueprints earlier. It really was easier when looking at it on paper.

Counting the few additional openings which crossed the main one, he wondered if the smaller channels were marked on the maps at all.

“If we get out where I plan for us to, no, they won’t.” He hoped so at least. “No one’s been here in years I think.”

“Yeah…” Curiosity or maybe even wonder had painted his companion’s voice in place of the earlier fear.

Paduk found himself growing more and more fond of him, as weird as that was for they were nary but strangers whose paths crossed in the weirdest possible place.

“So how old are you?” He didn’t seem much older than the age Paduk had joined the army at; but still held some sense of child-like innocence that made him certain that boy had never seen war up close in turn. “And what’s your name.”

“Damon… My name is Damon Baird.” The boy said with a pause, which made it clear he’d wondered if he should say anything at all. “And I’m fifteen.”

“Really?” Maybe he was just a bit scrawny for his age. Either way, Paduk thought the last place he should’ve been was an asylum. Though he didn’t know the whole story. “Did you do anything bad, to end up where you were?”

“Depends on the point of view, I guess.” The boy’s grip on him tightened just a bit, and some of the earlier fear seemed to have returned to his voice.

“Did you kill someone or something, or torture them or the like?” He asked again, thinking the Tyrans really liked to make a simple question complicated.

“No.” The boy said in turn. “I just… Liked the wrong person.”

“Really?” Turning his head to the side, he tried to catch a glimpse of his companion’s face, but he had looked away to side.

“My father didn’t take kindly to the heir of his bloodline liking other men.” Damon said in a low voice. “Used to be a time when he thought he could beat it out of me, but when that didn’t work…”

“He sent you here.” Paduk hummed, once again finding his hatred towards the COG grow steeper. Seems like it wasn’t enough for them to wage war outward, but had to do it inward as well. Surprising that their nation hadn’t crumbled all on its own, with the snake biting its own tail and all that.

“You won’t… Leave me, because of that, right?” Desperation shone clearly in Damon’s voice this time around. “I have nothing to repay you with, but please don’t tell me to go.”

“What were you going to do, if you had managed to run off on your own tonight?” Paduk asked in lieu of answering.

“I didn’t plan that far.” Damon sighed. “It wasn’t meant to be now at all, but when I realized what were they going to do to me, I had to at least try and get away.”

“Desperation sometimes gives you better chances than hope.” He remarked dryly, finding himself lost in thought.

The next turn came in sight, and he strayed from the main line, until they reached a ladder that seemed more rusty than anything he’d seen in his life before.

“We ought to go up through that.” He said, suddenly grateful he’d taken the risk earlier and opened the old manhole cover from above, before parking that ridiculous red truck nearby. Who knows if they would’ve even gotten to lift it up from here otherwise. “I’m going first this time though.”

“I’ll do anything, just don’t leave me here.” Damon said again, holding onto him tighter.

“I won’t leave you.” He took a deep breath, reminding himself that patience was a virtue. “We can’t fit through this at the same time, I’m heavier and I need to see if the area up is clear.”

“Okay.” Sounding forlorn, Damon let go and Paduk heard him hiss quietly as he stepped on the cold stone floor. At least there was no mud here. “Just be careful.”

“I will.” He was surprised at the worry he saw in Damon’s eyes, but reminded himself the boy depended on him now. Ah screw it, he knew the old tale didn’t he?

Save someone once, and you’re responsible for them your whole life, right?

Shaking his head, he began climbing, mindful of the jagged pieces of rust on the ladder. He had gloves, but it was best to remain wary.

The metal didn’t cave under him, so he got to the top quickly, and before peeking out, took a moment to just wait and listen. He could hear dripping water nearby; his own heartbeat thumping in his ears; the wind passing through the dead leaves in the trees.

A low scream echoed nearby; momentarily turning his guts into a ball of tight molten heat, adrenaline spiking through his veins. But it was nothing more than a barn owl, he realized, as the sound repeated with the low shuffle of wings somewhere close.

Seems like he’d startled the bird as much as it startled him, huh.

That was good. It meant nothing else around disturbed the peace of the creatures of the night.

Finally peeking through the line of the cover, he glanced to both sides; nothing but hills and forest and the dark outline of his truck. Clouds had obscured the sky again, and there was no spotlight to make them more visible than they already were.

In the distance, he saw the bright light around the Asylum’s walls; there was definitely a state of alert there now.

“Little one, come on up.” He said before climbing out completely, able to keep watch better now.

Damon climbed up without a word, seemingly surprised as the wind ruffled his hair; he took the scenery around them with a slight frown.

“We are still close.” He said when he too caught sight of the Asylum.

“Not for long, let’s go.” Paduk went to the truck without sparing another glance at him, certain he’d follow. What else was he to do, in the middle of nowhere, in the cold night of Gale?

Opening the car’s door and climbing in, he waited until Damon did the same on the other side, before starting up the engine. Actually, the truck was a good choice after all; old enough that it blended in well with the usual traffic in the countryside, and it lacked conveniences such as automatic lights.

The cabin remained dark even after he’d turned the key into the ignition, the engine giving him a pleasant low rumble in turn. He took one last glance at Damon, who had curled up in his borrowed jacket, leaned back into the seat; shaking just enough to be noticeable.

“It will be okay.” He didn’t know what else to say, but he’d always been a man of his word. Somewhat awkwardly, he placed a hand on Damon’s shoulder, hoping to reassure him.

It earned him a small smile in return, and he nodded before reaching to turn the heat up. Then all he had to do is focus back on driving away from this goddamn place.

The disk he’d come to retrieve weighted comfortably in his pants’ pocket, and he’d gotten out without a scratch; all in all, he could consider it a good night.

As he drove, he carefully made sure they weren’t being followed, before finally turning on the headlights. The wet road glistened before him, empty for the time being. Glancing at Damon, he noted that he was struggling to remain awake.

No surprise, after all. He did wonder, what he was going to do with him when he returned to the city.

Suppose, they were yet to find that out.

***

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

***

* * *

The scrapes on his knees stung as the antiseptic gauze rubbed over them; but he didn’t mind.

He wanted Paduk to clean them properly, remove the last trace of that wretched place from his skin. The last thing he wanted was a damn infection.

His hair was still damp from the shower, curling at the ends, dripping over the worn cotton shirt he wore.

It was just long enough to reach his mid-thigh, and he wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

He’s gotten the man’s name after all, which was more than he expected. His hospitality hadn’t ended in the entrance of the city either, and here he was.

Taking a quick, curious look around again, he couldn’t find anything particularly noteworthy in the place. An apartment, one that had definitely seen better days, but still held a touch of old-time grandeur. It was evident in the pattern of the wallpaper, the intricate curves of the wooden furniture; the wear of the years present, but unable to take away from what those items had been.

It was all very different from the ‘home’ he’d known his whole life.

But there was a distinct lack of personal items; nary a handful of coins or store receipts or a hamper of clothing set amiss. The place didn’t look lived-in.

Or maybe Paduk was just very tidy. Their family used to have an army of maids and butlers and generally people who made sure every room was pristine. But Damon had always liked to keep his space neat to begin with.

Glancing back down, he watched Paduk pick a new gauze pad from the first aid kit; this time, he poured some sort of a dark gel on it, and Damon bit his lip at the cold feeling of it meeting his wound.

A couple of bandaids secured the gauze in place, and Paduk moved onto his other knee.

He hadn’t asked, how or why or when; had simply beckoned for him to sit on the bed when he’d emerged from the bathroom, his injury in plain sight.

Damon shivered slightly, reminded of the moment he’d crashed against the floor.

His heart had been pounding so hard, he’d thought he might just die then and there, fearing he’ll soon sense the orderly’s grip on himself again, and that this time they wouldn’t make the mistake of letting him slip away.

He’d lost the makeshift shiv he’d used to distract them, but it hadn’t mattered in the end.

Not when he did, in some miraculous way, manage to get away after all. Maybe there was some force out there, something that had finally turned his damn luck around.

When he’d hidden under the desk, having his second ‘worse scare ever’ moment for the night, he honestly hadn’t felt able to think at all.

He’d followed Paduk nearly on autopilot, knowing he was all out of options. He could’ve been another patient, a serial killer for all he knew; it hadn’t mattered. Anything seemed better than what they’d planned to do to him.

Rob him of all he’d ever truly considered his in this life; his mind.

But not merciful enough to simply kill him, no – they would’ve let him suffer on for years, perhaps having the occasional moment of clarity, of understanding of his situation – or even if he didn’t, he’d still be locked up in a body that had forever regressed to the mental age of four.

His father truly was a cruel man, of that Damon was more than sure indeed.

“You’re done.” Paduk’s voice tore him out of his thoughts, and he focused his eyes back on him. He was still kneeling down before him, and patted his leg gently. “You can sleep proper now too, don’t worry.”

“Do you… have anything I could eat?” He asked before he could think better of it. But ever since he’d woken up in the car, the bright lights of the city making his eyes sting, he’d felt like there was a hole in his stomach the size of Jacinto, probably. So he risked testing Paduk’s hospitality yet again.

“Yeah, I do.” Getting up, Paduk took the medkit box. “Well come on then, you’re not expecting me to bring you breakfast in bed, are you?”

It was, in fact, nearly morning now. Damon could see the sky lightening up already.

Without another word, he got up and followed Paduk outside the bedroom.

“There’s eggs, bread, milk.” Paduk listed as he stood before the open fridge. “Should about cut it.”

“It’s good.” He lingered near the stove, glancing at the couple of pans hanging near it. Next to him, Paduk got busy cracking the eggs in a bowl, before taking out a bottle of oil.

“Get that heated up, will you.” He said, with a nod towards him, and rummaged through one of the cupboards again.

You got it, Damon told himself. Not exactly rocket science.

But he’d never cooked for himself before, as abysmal as it might seem in hindsight. A quick glance at the worn symbols on the stove, and he tried switching one of the knobs.

It awarded him with a hissing blue flame, that he carefully adjusted so that it wasn’t as high as in the current moment.

He’d been in the mansion’s kitchen, yeah; usually stealing non-perishable food or bread and cheese and fruits. Cans were tucked under his bed or in the old bomb shelter – the places he knew he could access them, if his father grounded him again.

Which happened more often than not.

Nobody was allowed to bring him food then, and after a couple of rather difficult times, he’d learned better.

But he’d never cooked.

Still, he took one of the pans from its hook, and placed it over the flame, glancing at Paduk from the corner of his eye.

The man seemed busy with something besides the omelet, so Damon decided the rest might be up to him after all.

Just as he reached for the bottle of oil, Paduk did it first, gently brushing his hand away.

“Let me.” He poured a bit into the pan, moving closer to the stove, and pulling the pan by the handle. “You can drink that while you wait.”

Damon saw him wave a hand at the mug that was left on the countertop, so he took it quietly.

“What is it?” He asked as he saw the swirling caramel-colored contents. He could smell spices, though he was unfamiliar with what kind exactly.

“It’s milk.” Paduk paused for a moment, before pouring the beaten eggs into the pan. “It’ll make you relax some.”

Taking a small sip, Damon decided that he rather liked the spicy milk. It was sweet too, and refreshingly cool. He hadn’t realized how parched his throat had been, and quickly downed the rest of the mug’s contents.

“Thank you.” He smiled before being able to stop himself, and quickly turned to the sink, hoping the man hadn’t noticed.

“It’s nothing.” Paduk said, then took a couple of forks from one of the counter cabinets. “You sure looked like you needed it.”

Looking for something to occupy his hands with, Damon decided to rinse the cup, taking the moment to just breathe for a while, reminding himself where he was.

He was safe, or at least safer than back in the asylum. He didn’t know what Paduk’s plans for him were, but right now, he was too damn exhausted to care.

A click and he saw that the flame was turned off; Paduk grabbed a couple of plates and took them to the table nearby.

Lingering where he was for a bit, Damon realized with growing terror that he felt like… crying.

This was probably the first normal meal that he’ll have in months, hell maybe even long before he was sent to that place, and yet he found himself wretched up with sobs that seemed to grow from so deep inside him, he couldn’t even hope to quench them.

Putting a hand over his mouth, he closed his eyes tightly, feeling himself start to shake.

He shouldn’t be doing this now; couldn’t it wait until he was alone again, when he’d lay down to sleep, anywhere but here, in front of the man he’d watched kill two of his greatest tormentors?

He felt the treacherous moisture over his cheeks, hell, even his nose was runny.

“Hey now…” Paduk’s voice sounded softer than he’d ever heard him be, and that alone was enough to make him take a hitched up breath. “You’re probably still in shock about all that’s happened.”

He felt something brushing away at his cheeks, and realized it was a hand – Paduk’s hand to be precise.

“Garron…” He barely managed to speak, but looked up at him nonetheless. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry about, least of all to me.” Paduk shrugged, before taking one of the napkins on the counter. “Here, and come sit down. It’ll pass.”

Taking the tissue, he patted away at his face, and followed Paduk’s suggestion to take a seat.

But instead of the chairs, he crashed down on the sofa, curling up on it.

He was still crying, despite drying up his face angrily, but the rapid beat of his heart had evened out some. Paduk wasn’t angry at him, wasn’t treating him like he was a weakling for showing emotions before him.

That was something of a first in his life.

A hand rubbed against his shoulder, and he risked another glance up.

Paduk was sitting on the armrest, looking down at him with unreadable expression. Or well, maybe Damon was just bad at reading people in general. He’d never quite had the proper practice, even in school.

He’d tried to avoid most of his peers, as they’d seemed rather duplicitous or outright hostile towards him at times. That was something he got plenty of at ‘home’, so he’d chosen the library instead. Finding a world in it that he could understand, knowledge he hadn’t known he’d strived towards.

He understood books that no one else his age should’ve; and learned a lot more in the following years too. There was a passion the pursuit of he’d not had denied to him yet, and so, he’d given it his all.

Every moment he could spare, each one that he was free in. Even his home library, on the rare occasions that he’d have full access to, had proven to hold knowledge he’d nearly craved.

All the thoughts he’d otherwise find locked up in his head, could spill free, because he now had the words and the means to express them.

None of that had been enough for his family though.

They didn’t want the heir of the Baird line to be a doctor, a prodigy, or anything of the kind. They’d wanted him to be a Gear in the war machine, a high ranking officer that would continue their name’s legacy, and eventually retire to a pretty, narrow-minded wife, and father a bunch of pretty, equally entitled children.

But that, was something he couldn’t give them, no sir. They’d never managed to truly keep him away from who he was, and it seemed unlikely anyone could ever succeed.

Damon felt like he’d rather rip his own throat out than submit to the life they had planned out for him; as surely, the agony of the latter would greatly outmatch the former.

He hadn’t meant to be caught however, no more than he had back when he’d been but a simple kid; who’d let it slip that he wanted to give another boy flowers, the same they were meant to give to the girls in the spring fair ball.

That, had earned him his first and most memorable beating, one he hadn’t even been old enough to fully understand the reason for at the time.

He just remembered his father’s anger, the madness twisting his features, face flushed red and the hand that had brought down the terrible burn of leather; the belt marring his flesh so deeply, he hadn’t been able to lie down on his back for weeks after.

And now, here was this man, this stranger who knew things about him that Damon had told nobody else; and yet, he looked at him like this still.

Not a trace of disgust, or judgment or displeasure.

Perhaps, only a sense of curiosity, and something he was not yet able to name.

He was the first whose hand had not touched him with the intent to bruise, to hurt, to restrain.

Yeah, Damon didn’t know what to do with himself, when faced with this type of kindness.

“It’s going cold.” Paduk cocked a brow, but smirked at him in the next instant. “Not that it won’t be delicious like that too, but it’s better hot.”

Glancing at the steaming omelet on the table, Damon sighed. It really was something so down to earth, but he found himself breathing lighter at the thought of just having some food. Now, in peace.

“Might just do this then.” Paduk got up from his spot on the armrest, and took both of their plates. “Here, easier now?”

He handed one to Damon, who sat up gingerly, holding the plate carefully. 

“Thank you again.” He said, picking up his fork. “Seems like you give me a lot of reasons to say that.”

“Well, can’t say I don’t appreciate the gratitude.” Paduk spoke through a mouthful of food, and Damon just watched him for a long while. He was devouring his food at a rate that Damon knew well within himself – must’ve been rather hungry indeed. Then a part of him began to wonder, what was Paduk doing back in that room in the first place.

Nothing he could safely ask about, that was for sure. He remembered the blood pooling beneath the bodies of the orderlies, the mere moments that it had taken for Paduk to take them both down.

But, he still didn’t look like a patient. Damon had grown accustomed to their particular look, the hint of resignation or madness in their eyes; and on some occasions, the mix of both.

And he’d had a gun, not to mention known where he was going. Using a back exit that even the staff had seemed unaware of, so he was likely an outsider after all.

Damon hadn’t rifled through the borrowed jacket’s pockets, despite the weight he’d felt in them; instead, he’d shed it down without a word as Paduk had shown him where the bathroom was.

He didn’t want to get into any more trouble than he already was. 

But, as ever, curiosity was a big part of his nature. Paduk’s accent had given him a solid clue about the man’s country of origin, but it was no definitive answer to his affairs. All Damon had was speculation.

Deciding this was nary the time or place to be getting lost in thought, he focused on his food. The eggs tasted divine, the bread too – he’d never thought either could be so delicious. Before he knew it, he’d cleaned up his plate, chewing his last bits thoroughly.

“That was very good.” He said afterwards, realizing it had apparently been Paduk’s turn to look at him as he’d eaten.

“I know.” The man said simply, with a touch of self-assuredness that stopped Damon’s thoughts in their tracks. How could one show off this kind of confidence, even with such a simple reason?

He huffed to himself as he watched Paduk take the plates away.

“Bedroom’s all yours, for now.” He said over his shoulder. “Don’t dig through my stuff. Get up when you’re awake, so that I can go sleep too.”

“Oh, okay. I won’t. I mean, won’t dig through your stuff.” He added, twisting the edge of his shirt. “I can sleep here though, don’t want to keep you away from your own bed.”

“Not feeling scared out in the open?” Paduk asked as he washed the plates. “The bedroom has a lock.”

“I think, if you wanted to hurt me, you’d have done it already.” Damon said after a heartbeat. “I can sleep here, or there. Doesn’t matter to me, if you’re around as well.”

“Fine then, suit yourself.” Paduk said as he dried his hands away with a towel. “There’s a blanket too, so you should be all set now.”

“I am.” He took the blanket off from the backrest, and wrapped himself in it snuggly. It was soft, and he laid down a bit more comfortably, already starting to feel pleasantly warm.

The food sat well in his stomach, and even his head had stopped pounding. Maybe the spiced milk had helped, after all.

He listened as Paduk’s footsteps moved away and down the small corridor to his room; then the door opened and closed, and the house fell silent afterwards.

There was no clock to tick, nothing making a sound really. Damon liked that, though he also found himself getting a bit restless.

He was comfortable, but sleep wasn’t coming, despite his fatigue. Yawning, he turned to the other side, his thoughts still running.

It seemed like the moment he was about to fall asleep, his head just got too loud again. Echoes of conversations, of gunshots, of screaming sounded like a distant buzz, making him snap out of his daze with a pounding heart.

He didn’t want to hear those things again, he’d had enough of them in the time he spent in the asylum.

The room slowly lightened further, though there was no sunlight; maybe, typical for Gale, it was going to be an overcast day.

Still, without any way to actually track the time, he wondered if he’d fall asleep at all again. Certainly felt like it had been an hour of just overthinking, tossing and turning.

Throwing the blanket on the backrest again, he sat up sharply.

He wanted to sleep; no, he needed to. His hands were getting a little shaky, and he rested them on his thighs, noticing the stark contrast of his bandages against his bruised up skin. The bandaids pulled slightly as he moved, but it wasn’t particularly unpleasant.

Getting up, he paced around a few times, uncertain of what to do. Glancing out at the window, he could only see more buildings up ahead, but no metal grates anymore. This place didn’t feel like a cell, a cage to him, and he was more than grateful.

The floorboards creaked under his feet, so he stopped, hoping he hadn’t woken Paduk up.

And then, an idea came to him.

His nannies and later everyone who’d been employed to ‘look after him’ had always said he had a dangerous mind. Once he set it on something, it was very difficult to find reason to derail from his goal.

He wondered, if Paduk would really mind or not.

Finally, gathering up the courage, he sneaked towards his room.

The door opened with the faintest of creaks, but he kept his hand on the handle still.

“Paduk?” He said in a low voice, clearing his throat a bit. “Are you asleep?”

“I was before.” He watched the man turn from where he was sprawled out on his back, the milky sheets covering him fully. “What is it?”

“Can I… Do you think I can sleep here? With you?” He felt himself burning up the moment the words left his lips. No, no, no that’s not what he’d meant at all, goddammit. “I mean, I’m… I think I’m too scared to sleep alone.”

He turned his gaze down to the floor, unable to bear the embarrassment of his admission.

“Sure.” The word startled him, and he glanced back up, noticing that Paduk had already closed his eyes again. “Come here, just be quiet after, alright?”

“Alright.” Warily stepping in, he closed the door behind himself. The few steps which separated him from the bed felt like a mile, but he did cross it.

After all, he hadn’t lied. He was afraid, he was terrified that this was all a dream; hell, maybe he’d never ran away after all. Maybe they’d succeeded with their ‘little operation’, and he was currently drooling all over himself in a corner.

Climbing over the bed, he could only pray to no one and anyone that it wasn’t true.

That his mind hadn’t come up with this man as someone to save him when nobody else had.

The sheets felt smooth against his skin as he slipped under them, and he caught a touch of Paduk’s aftershave; closing his eyes, he told himself it was okay, it was real.

He wasn’t locked away anymore, nor in there nor in his own mind.

“Thank you.” He whispered, barely audible. He had meant it before, that it seemed that Paduk kept giving him reasons to say those words.

Curling up on his side, he felt Paduk’s shoulder against his forehead, breathing in, he remained where he was.

The room was quiet, void of clocks or other sounds, just like the living room had been. But this time, his mind didn’t fill the emptiness with static, didn’t torment him with echoes of the past.

Instead, he could barely make out Paduk’s even breaths, certain than the man was asleep again.

Closing his eyes, Damon hoped he’d soon be able to do the same.

***

* * *


	7. Snowblind

* * *

***

Icy flowers had bloomed upon the glass overnight; turning the windows into an expanse of ghostly meadows.

Beyond that, he could see all the snow which had piled up high enough to obscure the fountains in the courtyard. Overcast skies promised that the storm was far from done with them yet.

Sighing, Marcus picked up his book again, absentmindedly reading another paragraph without paying much attention to what it was actually about. The warmth of the fireplace reached even his spot near the windowsill, but he’d tossed a blanket over his shoulders, feeling the biting chill radiating from the glass.

Any other winter day, he and Carlos would’ve found plenty of entertainment even when confined indoors, but not today.

Today the Santiagos were meant to go visit some relatives for the winter holidays, and Marcus was left all alone. Despite having spent his entire life in the estate, more or less alone, he was getting antsy now – so used to Carlos’ presence, looking up for the moment they met to play and hang out every day.

And it had been a daily occurrence, save for that one moment when Carlos had gotten the flu and Marcus have had to endure a week in school without him, unable to even visit him at home after that. Doctor’s orders, and something his father had insisted on too, reminding Marcus that he’d always been a sickly child.

Honestly, he’d felt that a fever and having runny nose for a while would’ve been a risk he’d willingly take.

But things were out of his control this time around too.

Carlos had said that he would maybe let it slip to his folks that Marcus could join them on their trip, though he hadn’t expected much from that. Holidays were meant to be a family thing, and Marcus was certain that Eva and Eduardo Santiago thought he’d be spending those with his mother and father.

As if.

Adam and Elain Fenix were likely going to attend at least a couple of official celebratory gatherings, but Marcus definitely didn’t feel like coming along on any of those.

Most of their staff had shorter hours too, leaving them more time to stay at home; so the house fell even quieter than usual, almost as if a beast in hibernation beneath the snowy blanket typical of late Sorrow.

Yes, this winter promised to be the coldest one in Tyrus in many years. Marcus had overheard it on the radio a few times, the hosts sounding worried as to the effect it would have on the troops currently engaged in active combat.

The northern border especially, since it reached the outermost edge of the Republic of Gorasnya, and its grassy hills, volcanic rocks and wind savage enough to freeze unwary wanderers in their tracks.

It had sounded like a glum predicament for both sides. Marcus momentarily wondered if he should try turning on the radio again, a background noise to dispel at least some of the weighty silence which seemed to hang over him since the morning, but quickly discarded the thought. He didn’t feel like listening to anything more about the war, and since that was the main topic on most stations, there was little point in trying.

Marking his page with the cinema ticket stub that he currently used instead of a bookmark, he left the book back on the small coffee table.

Reading didn’t seem to cut it today either.

His eyes fell on the turntable and the few records leaned on the shelf nearby.

Walking over to it, he glanced over the covers quickly; then saw that a couple of them were the ones Carlos had brought over the other day. Picking one, he scanned over the tracks, realizing they hadn’t listened to it together yet.

Slipping the vinyl disc out, he set it up, the intro of the tune starting slowly; it soon picked up speed and timbre, a catchy melody that somehow resonated with his emotions and the weather alike.

Kicking off his slippers idly, he laid down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling for a while.

He’d forgotten to ask Carlos if he knew the phone number of his aunties. If he had it, Marcus could’ve at least called to see if they’d reached the place safely…

Sighing again, he crossed his arms behind his head.

It was going to be a long day.

A melodic ring sounded throughout the house, and he barely registered it over the music.

He didn’t know about any guests coming over, but when the ring sounded again, he decided to check anyways.

Making his way downstairs took a while, but eventually he was in the dimly lit foyer; only the intricate lamps on the side casting faint light, the ticking of a clock echoing lightly.

A part of him wondered if this was the moment where something scary happens, much like it usually did in books or movies. Shrugging the ridiculous thought away, he stepped towards the door, checking through the glass panels on the side to see who had come.

“Carlos!” The name slipped from his lips excitedly as he hurried to open the door, and indeed – on the other end stood one Carlos Santiago, currently bundled up in a red hat and scarf, alongside a large winter parka.

“Hey there.” Carlos said, pulling the scarf away with a small huff. There was snow all over his clothing, and Marcus realized the storm must’ve started again.

“Come on in, quickly.” Marcus closed the door after him, realizing he was still smiling. “What happened? Why aren’t you at your aunt’s?”

“The storm.” Carlos explained with a shrug, already taking off his hat. His hair stuck out in all directions, wayward dark curls framing his face, a look not unlike the one of a mischievous angel. He was also grinning, his nose and cheeks reddened from the cold. “It means, we’re staying home cause the roads won’t be clear anytime soon.”

“And your mom let you come over?” Marcus couldn’t think of a better holiday gift. He had to bring Mrs. Santiago flowers the next time he went to their house.

“Yeah, I think with Dom and dad both having to stay in and complain about the snow, she’s rather happy to be able to send at least me off to somewhere.” Carlos let him take his coat, and Marcus put it on one of the hangers, brushing the last bits of snow away from it.

“I was just thinking I’ll be bored out of my mind without you today.” He said after a moment, shyly looking away. Now that Carlos was indeed here, he wasn’t sure what to do first.

“Same, honestly. Abuella’s kids are all younger than me, hell, some of them are smaller than Dom even. I’d have not had much fun over there.” Carlos rubbed his hands, and Marcus noticed his fingers were red with the cold. “Mom also said I can sleep here if the storm gets any worse. Would that be okay?”

“Of course.” Marcus grabbed Carlos’s sleeve, pulling him forward lightly. “Let’s get you warmed up, and we can grab something from the kitchen too. Tea and all. My mom and dad aren’t home now, they’re attending some luncheon.”

“Lucky you then, having the whole place for yourself.” Carlos followed him, glancing around occasionally. Marcus knew he did find the house interesting, especially since they didn’t spend much time in it whenever possible; or when they did, it was usually in the gardens or Marcus’ own room.

“We’re having it for ourselves now.” He chuckled as they went to the kitchen, mind already running through what he knew was around since breakfast. “There’s cake, sandwiches, fruits… Think we’ll be good.”

“Anything goes, you know that.” Carlos sat on one of the chairs near the table while Marcus picked out the plates and the food. Putting a kettle over the stove, he began preparing the tea.

Usually they had a cook, but Marcus preferred to make his own snacks and the man was currently away in one of the rooms in the west wing, unless Marcus’ parents were home. The pantry was always stocked with cheese and fruits, alongside some things in the cold storage such as the cake.

“Blueberries?” Carlos picked his own piece, and Marcus sat next to him, doing the same.

“Yep, ever since your mom made a cake like this, I can’t get enough of them.” Marcus did find himself with more appetite in the past months, feeling more than grateful when he got to try Eva’s dishes; so he was glad to be able to offer Carlos something like this in turn now.

“You have any ideas about what we can do today?” Carlos asked, glancing over at him.

“Hmm not sure yet. You did leave a couple of records over though.” Remembering what he’d been up to, Marcus gave him a small smile. “I was listening to one of them before you came.”

“You liked any of the songs then?” Humming enthusiastically, Carlos took another bite of the cake. “Also, remember that story we were reading last time, with the pirates and the lost city?”

“Oh yeah, we didn’t finish it.” They had found a book in the mansion’s library one day while playing hide and seek, that had turned out more interesting than either would’ve expected. There were even detailed maps as the story went, following the discovery of an ancient kingdom and its lost treasure. “I’ll definitely like to know if they were safe in the end. And yep, I quite liked the intro song.”

“Right, there were traps for anyone who found the place.” Carlos said just as the lights around them flickered a couple of times, before going out. Only the fire in the stove cast a dancing orange light all around. “Oh wow.”

“It’s probably the storm.” Marcus frowned, glancing over to the cabinets nearby. “Should be candles somewhere around here.”

“At least we have the fire.” Carlos put his hands towards the stove, while Marcus got up to search for the candelabra he was certain he’d glimpsed at somewhere around the place. “A blanket and that book, and we’ve got ourselves a fort.”

“A ship’s cabin.” Marcus hummed as he pulled down the heavy candelabra and the pack of matches near it. “Stranded without a shore.”

“The perfect time for a ghost story.” Carlos snickered, though he seemed concerned as Marcus moved the light away. “Where are you going?”

“To grab the book.” The candle flame danced as he walked, a stray draft nearly extinguishing it.

“Just be back soon…” For the first time since coming over, Carlos looked a tad out of place. “Or I’m having the sandwiches without you.”

“Are you actually scared?” Marcus asked with a note of concern. “I can stay if you want me to?”

“Not scared, just… Ma’s fond of these special kind of stories for the holidays…” Carlos looked away, seeming a tad uncomfortable. “She’d always said, we have to be kind and leave food for our ancestors. ‘Cause their spirits come back home for a while.”

“I don’t think any of them would come here.” Marcus looked around, trying to think up of a moment when the old house must’ve been full of people and laughter. He couldn’t quite imagine it. “But you can come with me to the library if you’re gonna feel better.”

“Sure.” Carlos shrugged, but quickly got to his feet. “You’re really not… Worried? Lots of portraits around here, of your ancestors.”

Marcus considered that for a while, since the long corridors did indeed carry the oil paintings often depicting the forefathers of the Fenix family line. He rarely heeded them any mind.

“It will be fine.” He said, and after a moment reached over with his free arm, holding Carlos’ hand in his. “None of them are getting to you with me.”

Carlos didn’t say anything to that, though he kept their hands together, fingers interlocked.

The library was in part connected to the study and the cabinet his parents shared, but since neither of them were here today, the large joined rooms were empty.

Heavy, plush drapes obscured the windows, keeping any daylight away from the antique tomes that were part of the book collection.

“You’ve really read most of these?” Carlos seemed unconvinced.

“A big part, yeah.” Marcus walked between the rows filled with various books bound with leather, until he reached one of the more recent sections. “Didn’t really have much else to do. The ones I didn’t read were mom and dad’s work literature, I don’t really get that.”

“Hmm and yet we still found one you hadn’t gotten to.” Carlos pulled the book from the shelf they’d last left it on, the little ship imprinted in gold on its spine making it stand out between the rest. “We have the loot Captain, should we return to the Galley?”

“Aye.” Marcus smirked, though he maneuvered carefully between the books, mindful of the lit candelabra in his hand.

The way back definitely seemed quicker, the shadows in the corridor shying away from their path.

As he pushed the kitchen door closed, Marcus shared a look with Carlos that ended up with them both bursting into giggles.

The day was only beginning, and they had all the time they could want, free to spend it together.

***

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If the sky that we look upon  
> Should tumble and fall  
> And the mountains should crumble to the sea  
> I won't cry, I won't cry, no, I won't shed a tear  
> Just as long as you stand, stand by me

* * *

***

It was their tree.

A couple of years ago, they’d carved their initials on it, and the bark was now thicker, a raised wedge in the shape of an M and a C.

Marcus still remembered the smooth, mother-of-pearl handle of Carlos’ pocket knife; warm in his hand, where he’d given it to him, after finishing out his own initial.

The trunk was old and twisted, but this far out in the fields, it seemed like the two of them had been the only ones to claim it as theirs.

It grew small, slightly sour apples which reddened in autumn; the crown offered shade in the blazing sun of summer midday.

They’d climbed it many times, exploring the higher branches, even saw eggs in a bird’s nest once – and promptly left it alone, knowing it was better to not disturb the peace of the critters of the land.

It had happened here too, their first kiss.

Shy and uncertain, Marcus’ heart pounding in his chest underneath the thin t-shirt; he’d felt out of breath, just as when they’d raced each other on the bikes, trying to go faster and faster on the uneven dirt roads.

They’d fallen this way before, bringing home knee scratches and torn pants, and yet it never stopped them from doing it again.

Marcus loved the feeling of the wind in his hair; the sun at the nape of his neck, Carlos’ happy cheers ahead of him. The burn in his muscles as he pushed on faster, the clouds of dry dust left in their wake.

Those summers were like no others he’d had, none he had even dreamt of before.

They’d bring a bottle of water and some food, and spent most of the day in the gentle shade of the old tree, lost in each other’s company, nothing but low the buzz of insects and the occasional call of a lone bird to disturb them.

The young wheat was moving in waves, caressed by a warm wind, in an expanse of vivid green as far as the eye could see.

Carlos’ head was resting in his lap, his eyes so blue it was like they were pieces of the same azure sky above them.

“What?” He asked with a toothy grin, two dimples adorning his freckled cheeks. “Ground control to Marcus?”

“Nothin’.” He said in turn, a small smile curling his lips. He’d been caught staring again.

Moving to better lean against the tree, he glanced to the side, noticing the rusty lines over the wood. Scratching at one with a blunt fingernail, he frowned at the unyielding metal underneath.

“Why would someone put nails in here.” He wondered out loud, realizing it was the first time he’d paid attention to that feature of their apple tree.

“My dad says people do it to make the tree bear more fruits.” Carlos shrugged his shoulders, his arms crossed behind his neck. “Dunno if it’s true though.”

“Hmmm… Seems rough to go about it like that.” Marcus didn’t know much about botany, but he decided since the tree was the only one around a rather large area, a few nails hadn’t been enough to damage it.

“So.” Carlos reached out and took Marcus’ hand in his, bringing his attention back to his face. “Got any idea what we can do today?”

“Maybe check out the lake?” Marcus suggested after a moment of thought. The river banks were too high and rocky for them to go to in search of a good place to cool down, and many parts were too industrialized for the water to be clean to begin with. So the lake on the other end of town was usually their best bet.

“Nah, last week I saw Rocco, he said it’s all greened up.” Carlos scrunched his nose, likely thinking of the slimy algae which sometimes covered the water – definitely the number one enemy of anyone who might feel like going in it for a swim. And the gesture was something which shouldn’t have been as cute as it seemed to Marcus, yet here they were.

“Yeah, it hasn’t rained in few weeks now, so no fresh water.” There was still a long time until dinner, and Marcus didn’t mind idling around until the evening. Even if the road back was a long one. “Then we can just stay here.”

“Ah, but I’m bored.” Carlos brought his knees up, absentmindedly scratching over a band-aid.

“Don’t poke at it, it’ll leave as scar.” Marcus noted, while trying to think up of something to do. Usually Carlos was the one with the ideas, but it seemed like the sun had gotten to them both a bit today.

Carlos dropped his hand at his remark, though he smirked as he glanced back at Marcus.

“I can think of something.”

He sat up at that, and Marcus briefly lamented the loss of contact, despite the heat Carlos’ back had been radiating over his legs.

“Such as what?” He asked, picking a stray blade of grass from a patch next to his foot.

The hand on his cheek had him turn over, and he felt himself blush at how close Carlos’ face was to his now.

Their noses bumped together and he closed his eyes, his heart as quick as the one of a bird, thumping wildly in his ribcage. Carlos’ soft lips met his in a light, gentle kiss.

They hadn’t done this since the first time a few weeks ago, and Marcus had wondered. If it was ever going to happen again, if it was an accident; though hardly unlikely, since at the time they’d sat side by side, and leaned over to each other, almost as if a scene from a silver screen movie.

He pressed slightly into the kiss, hand coming to rest on Carlos’ shoulder; he could hear some of the glass bottles hanged on the top tree branches clanging against one other with a low sound, strange, foreign charms left by someone they’d never seen.

Carlos had called them wind chimes, and somehow, despite being man-made, they still sounded like they were one with the place, with the nature around them.

Hand curling over Carlos’ waist as to keep him there, Marcus smiled lightly as they parted, resting his forehead against Carlos’ own. Stay, he wanted to say.

He didn’t have to speak. Carlos knew, somehow, as he always seemed to.

***

* * *

**

* * *

*

* * *

**

* * *

***

Carlos leaned proudly over it, hand patting the hood. The faded, brick-red color shined with polish, and the curves of the metal spoke of weight and sturdiness.

“Come on, tell me you don’t love it.” He grinned, and stepped to the side, before opening the driver’s door. “The interior’s kept as well, there was barely anything we needed to change.”

“It looks great.” Marcus was eyeing the car with what he’d grown to call a professional eye; he’d spent so long around Eduardo and Carlos, he learned plenty of the inner and outer auto mechanical works.

And while it was a retro ride – if he remembered correctly, that brand still ran on solar power, not Imulsion – the car seemed painstakingly restored to its former glory.

It was Carlos’ gift for his sixteenth birthday. Marcus was surprised, initially, since the two of them had planned to get a car together. Had, as Marcus too thought it was time they upgraded from the bikes and got to ride out further, but neither could officially do that until now.

After all, Carlos’ father was a mechanic and Marcus figured it was professional pride as well as love that he gave his eldest son what he’d wanted for quite some time now.

“When did he even work on it.” He asked, since the two had been frequent visitors to Mr. Santiago’s garage – helping, or occasionally getting in the way, but overall present. Tracing a hand over the seat’s backrest, Marcus hummed appreciatively.

“In the evenings, apparently. Hell, I was helping him sometimes, but I had no clue it wasn’t for a client.” Carlos had pulled the retractable roof all the way back, which revealed a lot of space in the back seat.

There was also a cooler stashed between the seats, and Marcus raised a brow at that.

“Planning anything?” He asked, leaning on the side of the car lightly.

“Well, it is my birthday, so you can bet on it.” Carlos smiled and jangled the keys in his hand. “Dad said we definitely can take it for a spin, if we promise to be careful.”

“I could tell him I’ll have you home by eight.” Marcus bit his lip slightly as Carlos bumped his arm in mock offence.

“Marcus Michael Fenix, you’ll do no such thing.” Still, Carlos glanced around quickly, making sure they were alone. “We can go to the hill, if you want to.”

“I don’t see why not.” It was a place further out of town, one which offered a good view of the whole plateau. “But it’ll be dark by the time we get there. Do you have any flashlights?”

“Yep, it’s all in the trunk.” Carlos pointed back with a thumb, before taking his seat, running an appreciative hand over the steering wheel. “Come on then, watcha waiting for?”

“Comin’.” Marcus walked around the car, briefly putting the sides of his jacket closer; noting the reassuring weight in one of his pockets. Securing the seat belt in place, he took one more look at Carlos. “Time to hit the road then.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

The hill was empty at this time of the year; autumn’s winds crossing over it restlessly, weaving leaves into the dry grass. Crickets sang their loud song, and the night felt both mysterious and open, filled with the strange, velveteen warmth of late summer.

Dry branches crackled and burned brightly into the small fire, a flurry of sparks flying up before disappearing into the darkness.

“There’s fireflies here.” Marcus nodded at the edge of the hill, the shady line of the low shrubbery likely still keeping the soil damp enough to attract the bugs.

Carlos turned his head to follow his gaze, and after a second, the ghostly yellow dots appeared again, blinking in an unknown pattern as the fireflies danced around.

“We barely ever see them in the city anymore.” Carlos lamented, moving to sit from where he was crouching next to the fire. “I remember how many of them there used to be in the mansion’s gardens when we were little.”

“Yeah…” Marcus remembered those too. It had seemed so magical to him at the time, that a creature emitting light like this should exist. “I’d sometimes saw them in the past few years, but they were gone on the next day.”

“Maybe they’re migrating.” Carlos turned the stick he was holding, before quickly pulling it out of the fire with a low ‘oof’. “Almost burned it.”

“Looks good to me.” Marcus grabbed a biscuit and a piece of chocolate, before reaching to the caramelized soft candy on the stick. It melted and he quickly took a bite, savoring the sweetness.

“Hey, that was mine.” Carlos shook his head, though he was already ruffling through the bag for another piece. “Good thing I packed plenty then.”

“It’s the first time I have birthday s’mores rather than a cake.” Marcus chewed thoroughly, before licking the bit of chocolate which had dropped over his thumb. “I like it though.”

“I bet you do.” Carlos shook his head, though Marcus could see his smile as the light of the fire danced over his features. “I’ve been carrying sweets in my pockets for you this whole time.”

“Only for me?” That did give him a pause. He was used to finding the occasional chocolate, candy bar or even some packets of chips in Carlos’ possession, but the thought they were there specifically for him had never occurred to him before.

“Yep.” This time turning the stick more promptly, Carlos looked back at him, before leaning over to steal a quick kiss, and pulling away again. “Though admittedly, the s’mores were Dom’s idea.”

“He follows in your footsteps then.” Marcus picked the thermos and poured himself a cup of black coffee. It contrasted nicely against the sweetness, and it was cool enough to drink with the heat of the fire warming up his chest and legs.

“He’s a smart lad, aye.” Carlos ate his own s’more, and twirled the stick between his hands for a moment, falling silent.

The car had been a smooth ride, and Marcus felt like they definitely had the promise of many more road trips before them. Carlos had seemed to really enjoy himself behind the wheel, and Marcus spent most of the time looking at him rather than the scenery that passed them by.

Getting the cooler out and setting up a campfire felt pleasant, and considering the six pack of beer nestled in the box that he’d glimpsed at earlier, he knew they were spending the night here. There were even blankets in the trunk, though for now both he and Carlos had preferred to just sit directly on the ground, the dry grass forming a soft canopy.

The city glimmered far in the distance, strewn over pitch black lands.

“By the way.” He began, hand reaching in his pocket. “You haven’t gotten your present yet.”

“Mmm… I’m ready to be surprised.” Carlos put his own cup down, and turned so that he was facing him better. “Wouldn’t mind a birthday kiss too.”

“Of course.” Just a little shyly, Marcus reached to caress his cheek, before giving him a proper kiss. Carlos sighed contently, arms wrapping around Marcus’ shoulders.

Out here, alone and away from prying eyes, they didn’t need to be cautious. They could just be, and Marcus felt grateful to have this moment.

Once they parted, he took out the golden keychain and put it in Carlos’ hand quickly. There was an intricate ox charm on it, that had first caught his eye while he’d looked for a gift.

“It was meant to be, sort of, for when we get a car. But since you already have that…” He smiled lightly, watching Carlos’ expression as he turned it around, the blue beads glimmering in the low light.

“I love it.” Carlos said simply, and pulled out his car keys, clasping them on the new ring. “And it still means a lot, even if we didn’t get the car together.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Leaning to rest on his outstretched arm, Marcus reached for the cooler, and pulled out the beer. He had worried, as he did every year, if Carlos would like the present he’d picked. Even though anything he’d given him had always been well received. “I think now’s a good time to say cheers.”

“That it is.” Grabbing one of the cans, Carlos popped it open, before leaning into Marcus’ side. “Thank you for being here.”

“I… I should be the one saying that.” Marcus looked down, his heart suddenly stuck in his throat. “Nowhere else I’d rather be in the world.”

“Cheers to that then.” Bumping the can against his, Carlos took a long sip, before sighing deeply.

Marcus drank quietly, the cool, fuzzy drink refreshing, despite, or maybe even because of the light bitterness.

He was still not too used to drinking it; he’d had wine from time to time, throughout the years at diners with his family or other official gatherings, but it was maybe a few months now that he and Carlos had been sharing the occasional bottle of beer.

It went rather well with Eva’s cooking too.

His thoughts were interrupted by a hand passing over his torso, before slinking underneath his jacket lapel.

“You do have smokes on you, don’t you?” Carlos patted lightly at his inner pocket, before fishing out the pack of cigarettes.

“How did you even know.” Marcus huffed, though he was quick to take out the lighter from his jeans and offer it to Carlos. It wasn’t exactly a secret, though he’d rarely seen Carlos having interest in smoking.

“This jacket smells like tobacco.” Shrugging his shoulders, Carlos took out a cigarette and lit it quickly. “I like it.”

He gave Marcus a playful smile, before taking a deep drag, a bit of smoke escaping from his lips.

Marcus couldn’t but think Carlos was perfect in that moment. He couldn’t look away.

Carlos leaned his head on his shoulder again, and smoked in silence, gaze lost in the flickering flames of the fire. Marcus put an arm around his waist to hold him flush against his side, and after a moment of thought, placed a gentle kiss on his neck.

And another, down to his jaw; Carlos’ perfume reminding him of caramel and spices, heady and sweet against the backdrop of the tobacco in the air. He could spend the night with his face buried against Carlos’ skin.

He hears the small chuckle which escapes Carlos’ lips as his kisses grew in number, and he tilts his head back just a bit, allowing Marcus more access to the smooth column of his throat.

His lips find Carlos’ pulse in the point between his collarbones, the welcoming warmth of him drawing Marcus in, until he has both of his hands underneath Calros’ sweater, caressing his flank, his waist, following the dip of his spine – up and down with a slow kind of urgency, before doing it all over again.

Then Carlos’ hand is on his jaw, pulling his face up until they’re even, until he can steal a kiss that Marcus gives into willingly.

“How about we move this someplace… softer?” Carlos glances back at the car, and admittedly, the hill is more rock than grass.

“Hold onto me.” Marcus says at that, finding that his voice had dropped so much lower than usual. Clearing his throat, he shuffles on his knees, and pulls Carlos closer, before lifting him up.

“Wow, show off.” Carlos laughs against him again, however his grip on Marcus’ shoulders was strong. “Just because you’re taller for now, doesn’t automatically turn me into a princess.”

“Mmm true, but it does mean I can do this easily.” He smirks at that, making a few steps to the car, before opening the door, and carefully lowering Carlos over the back seat. Honestly, Marcus was a little proud at how smooth he was in that moment. Usually any time that Carlos let him get the upper hand, he felt himself shiver with anticipation, certain he was a mess for anyone to see.

“Come here then.” Carlos pulled off his sweater and undershirt quickly, though Marcus could see the goosebumps which rose on his skin as it was exposed to the cool night air.

“Here…” He rested one knee on the seat, and shrugged off his leather jacket quickly, giving it to Carlos who was quick to put it down and lay over it.

Marcus just stood still for a moment at that, watching him as he sprawled back, strewn over the red silk of the jacket’s lining. He almost appeared to glow in the distant light of the fire, lush, soft shadows outlining the dips and curves of his muscles.

Both of them had bulked up lately, spending so much time outdoors and exercising often – Carlos was serious as ever about going to the army. Marcus didn’t mind training alongside him, and well, he had made up his mind from the start.

Wherever Carlos went, he’d follow.

But they still had a couple of years. He didn’t have to think about any of that now, about what waited ahead.

Not when he had Carlos right in front of him, pulling him in closer, arms caressing his waist and back.

Marcus just let himself feel him, emptying his head of anything else. Focused on finding his lips in the soft darkness, feeling the press of their bodies against one other as they shared their warmth, their heartbeat.

Eventually, after even that low heat had settled down; Marcus laid more comfortably on the seat, noting it was about wide enough to fit them both. Carlos slid his leg between Marcus’ thighs, sighing contently against his neck.

“We should come here more often.” He said in a soft voice, his fingers caressing over Marcus’ knuckles.

“Now we can do it whenever you say.” Resting his chin against Carlos’ temple, Marcus looked up at the starry sky. There were no clouds, and the moons had not risen yet, leaving the glow of distant suns and constellations to flicker down to their world. “A lot of places we could go to actually.”

“I do have a list forming up already.” Carlos shifted for a moment, pulling the side of Marcus’ jacket over his shoulders. “Definitely want to visit Halvo Bay before going to the army. And maybe the mountains. I’ve never been to a mountain before.”

“We should go north before winter, or the roads will be all snowed up.” Marcus didn’t mention that they didn’t yet know how the situation with Halvo would be like. There were rumors that the UIR forces had advanced further across the original lines drawn through the Serrano Ocean. Even if there was little land before the two sides, Halvo bay had always been one of the most prospering COG marine cities, which made it a strategically valuable point.

“You’re saying this as if the mountains would get up and leave next year.” Still, Carlos held his hand, drawing Marcus’ attention back to him again. “We’re not in a hurry or anything.”

“I know.” Glancing over to him, Marcus didn’t say there was always the possibility of either of them getting drafted early, if things worsened for real. Carlos knew it well.

But he’d always been the optimistic one. No matter what happened, Carlos could get him on board with the situation, cheering along.

And they would get to see the mountains, eventually. Together.

***

* * *

**

* * *

*

* * *

**

* * *

***

He looked at the bright, vivid swatches of color nestled into a tight bundle; the small, fragile flowers glowing with the best of the summer’s warmth.

Purple, blue, yellow, white; he couldn’t name all the flower species, but had seen them blooming across the fields, filling the meadows with radiant fragrance.

His face heated up, and Marcus held no illusions that the treacherous redness portrayed his inner state more plainly than his expression ever could.

“Thank you.” He finally looked up at Carlos with a small smile, still holding the small bouquet close to his chest.

“Look at you, if I knew flowers could make you react like that…” Carlos chuckled before coming to sit down next to him on the marble staircase of the gazebo.

“I’m just surprised is all.” He mumbled out, though a slew of memories kept waking in his mind at the sight of the familiar flowers. “I hadn’t seen most of these elsewhere but the fields around the apple tree.”

“Yep, that’s where I went to pick them.” Carlos leaned back on his hands, closing his eyes as he basked in the sun, almost akin to a cat. “I remember you used to like looking at them when we’d go there.”

It wasn’t the only thing Marcus had enjoyed looking at that time, but he didn’t say it out loud.

“I’m not missing something, am I?” Still, he wondered, as he brought the flowers up, the gentle scent of the green wheat filling his senses.

“Nope.” Carlos glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “It’s a thank you, in a manner. For saying what you did.”

“That I’m coming with you?” He had done it a few days ago. He was going to be eighteen in a few weeks, and Carlos had already put out his own documents at the local draft office. Marcus planned to follow, regardless of what his father had to say on the matter, and he’d made sure Carlos knew it.

“Yes.” Glancing around, Carlos let his hand cover Marcus’ own, a rare display of affection considering where they were. There was always the chance of a servant or a gardener to catch sight of them accidentally; despite it being the Fenix family mansion, it wasn’t exactly a safe place for this. “It means a lot, you know. If you’re really sure about it.”

“I won’t hesitate.” Marcus looked at him, keeping his gaze. “I’ve decided from a long time Carlos. It’s been years now.”

“Ah, I figured.” Bumping their shoulders lightly, Carlos grinned up at him. “I’m happy that I won’t have to worry about some pretty girl stealing you away while I’m not around.”

“As if that can ever happen.” Marcus huffed, pushing back at Carlos’ shoulder playfully. There was something he hadn’t told him about, but he would, when the time was right.

It hadn’t come up was all.

Carlos did know Anya, but he hadn’t found out what Marcus knew about her. That the three of them were more alike than not.

He had seen her, in at the spring ball. In the gardens, with that other girl. He hadn’t meant to, he’d simply had to get away from the noise, have a smoke in peace.

But he had made her a promise that night. If push came to shove, he wouldn’t let her be persecuted about who she was, or forced to marry someone she couldn’t stand.

They’d made a deal, in a way. There were certain expectations, of heirs to the Founding Families. Marcus had no plans to uphold them if he could get away with it, not since he’d promised his heart to Carlos all those years ago.

Yet nobody would get to doubt them, or to try to expose them, if they had this as back up.

But for both of them, that plan was far on the horizon. She too was going to join the military, which won them all a few years away from public scrutiny, from the looming expectation of conforming relationships and marriage.

“So, come by for dinner? Mama’s making her special chili for you.” Carlos asked, though his tone was mostly rhetorical. There’d nary been a time when Marcus hadn’t been up for coming to the Santiagos’ house.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He was looking forward to it, though he knew there was likely going to be a serious conversation to be had over the meal too. “Have you told them yet?”

“Yeah, she wasn’t really surprised. Dad just shook his head.” Carlos shrugged. “They’d always say we’re inseparable, I guess they were expecting you to come along with me in this too.”

“It’s nice to know at least someone won’t be against it.” All in all, Marcus wasn’t looking forward to having a word with his father. It wasn’t going to be nice, but little between them ever was.

“Ah, come on. Your old man will get over it too.” Carlos leaned on him, sighing slightly. “You know you’re like another son to mama. She’d be proud of you no matter what.”

“I appreciate it.” Marcus said quietly, his chest swelling with emotion. There was always a flurry inside his mind, swayed by outer forces more violently than some winter storms. But he had found his ground, his family.

Everything was going to be alright.

***

* * *

***

Bonus artwork: Marcus and the flowers Carlos gave him


End file.
